SMOKE 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STORIES  OF 
IVAN  TURGENIEFF 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHAELES   SCEIBNEE'S   SONS 

Each  limn,  $l.ia 

RtfDIN,   AND   A   KING    LEAR    OF    THE    STEPPES 

A  NOBLEMAN'S  NEST 

ON  THE  EVE 

FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

SMOKE 

VIRGIN  SOIL 

MEMOIRS  OF  A  SPORTSMAN 

THE  JEW,  AND  OTHER  STORIES, 

DIARY   OF  A   SUPERFLUOUS   MAN,   AND   OTHER 
STORIES 

FIRST  LOVE,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

PHANTOMS,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

THE  BRIGADIER,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

SPRING  FRESHETS,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

A  DESPERATE  CHARACTER,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


SMOKE 


BY 

IVAN   TURGENIEFF 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   RUSSIAN   BY 
ISABEL   F.   HAPGOOD 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   Sows 


SMOKE 

(1867) 


SMOKE 


AT  four  o'clock,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  tenth 
A*,  of  August,  in  the  year  1862,  a  large  number 
of  persons  were  assembled  in  front  of  the  famous 
"  Conversation  "  (Hall)  in  Baden-Baden.  The 
weather  continued  to  be  delightful;  everything 
round  about— the  verdant  trees,  the  bright-hued 
houses  of  the  comfortable  town,  the  undulating 
hills— everything  lay  outspread  in  festive  guise, 
with  lavish  hand,  beneath  the  rays  of  the  be- 
nignant sun ;  everything  was  smiling  in  a  passive, 
confiding  and  engaging  manner,  and  the  same 
sort  of  vague  yet  amiable  smile  strayed  over  the 
faces  of  the  people,  young  and  old,  homely  and 
handsome.  Even  the  dyed  and  bleached  faces  of 
the  Parisian  courtesans  did  not  destroy  the  gen- 
eral impression  of  manifest  satisfaction  and  ex- 
ultation, but  the  motley-hued  ribbons  and  fea- 
thers, the  glints  of  gold  and  steel  on  bonnets  and 
veils,  involuntarily  suggested  to  the  vision  the 
reanimated  gleam  and  light  play  of  springtide 
flowers  and  rainbow-hued  wings:  but  the  dry, 
guttural  rattle  of  French  gabble  could  not  take 

3 


SMOKE 

the  place  of  the  twittering  of  the  birds,  or  bear 
comparison  therewith. 

However,  everything  was  going  on  as  usual. 
The  orchestra  in  the  pavilion  played  now  a  pot- 
pourri from  "  La  Traviata,"  again  a  waltz  by 
Strauss,  or  Dites-lui,  or  a  Russian  romance  ar- 
ranged for  instruments  by  the  obliging  band- 
master ;  around  the  green  tables  in  the  gambling- 
halls  thronged  the  same  familiar  figures,  with  the 
same  dull  and  greedy  expression  as  ever,  an  ex- 
pression neither  exactly  perplexed  nor  yet  irri- 
tated, but  essentially  rapacious,  which  the  gam- 
bling fever  imparts  to  all,  even  to  the  most  aristo- 
cratic features ;  the  usual  obese  landed  proprietor 
from  Tamboff,  in  extremely  dandified  attire, 
with  the  usual  incomprehensible,  convulsive  haste, 
and  eyes  protruding,  leaning  his  breast  on  the 
table,  and  paying  no  heed  to  the  grins  of  the  crou- 
piers, at  the  moment  of  uttering  the  exclamation, 
"  Rien  ne  va  plus! "  was  scattering  circles  of  louis 
d'or,  with  perspiring  hand,  over  all  the  squares  of 
the  roulette-board,  and  thereby  depriving  himself 
of  all  possibility  of  winning  anything,  even  in  the 
case  of  luck;  which  did  not  in  the  least  prevent 
him,  in  the  course  of  that  same  evening,  from 
humouring  with  sympathetic  wrath  Prince  Koko, 
one  of  the  well-known  leaders  of  the  opposition 
among  the  gentry,  the  Prince  Koko  who,  in  Paris, 
in  the  drawing-room  of  Princess  Mathilde,  in  the 
presence  of  the  Emperor,  remarked  so  truly: 


SMOKE 

"  Madame,  le  principe  de  la  propriete  est  profon- 
dement  ebranle  en  Russie"  According  to  their 
wont,  our  amiable  fellow-countrymen  and  women 
assembled  at  the  "  Russian  Tree  "—a  I3  Arbre 
Russe; — they  strolled  up  ostentatiously,  care- 
lessly, fashionably,  greeted  each  other  majes- 
tically, with  elegant  ease,  as  is  befitting  beings  who 
stand  at  the  apex  of  contemporary  culture,  but, 
having  met  and  seated  themselves,  they  positively 
did  not  know  what  to  say  to  one  another,  and  con- 
tented themselves  with  the  exchange  of  empty 
phrases,  or  with  the  threadbare,  extremely  impu- 
dent and  extremely  insipid  sallies  of  a  French  ex- 
literary  man,  who  had  long  since  seen  his  best 
days,  a  jester  and  chatter-box,  with  Jewish  slip- 
pers on  his  wretched  little  feet,  and  with  a  con- 
temptible little  beard  on  his  miserable  little  phiz. 
He  babbled  to  them,  a  ces  princes  Russes,  all  sorts 
of  stale  nonsense  out  of  ancient  almanacs  of  the 
Charivari  and  Tintamarre,  .  .  while  they — ces 
princes  Russes— burst  into  grateful  laughter,  as 
though  involuntarily  acknowledging  both  the 
overwhelming  superiority  of  foreign  wit  and 
their  own  definitive  incapacity  to  devise  anything 
amusing.  And  yet  there  was  present  almost  all 
the  "  fine  fleur  "  of  our  society,  "  all  the  quality 
and  the  models  of  fashion."  There  was  Count 
X.,  our  incomparable  dilettante,  a  profound  mu- 
sical nature,  who  "  recites  "  romances  so  divinely, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  cannot  distinguish  one 

5 


SMOKE 

note  from  another  without  poking  his  forefinger 
at  random  over  the  keys,  and  sings  somewhat  like 
an  indifferently  poor  gipsy,  somewhat  like  a  Pa- 
risian hair-dresser ;  there  was  also  our  enchanting 
Baron  Z.,  that  jack  of  all  trades:  literary  man, 
administrator,  orator  and  sharper;  there  was 
also  Prince  Y.,  the  friend  of  religion  and 
of  the  people,  who  had  amassed  a  huge  fortune 
in  his  time,  the  blessed  epoch  of  monopolies,  by 
the  sale  of  inferior  liquor  adulterated  with  stra- 
monium; and  brilliant  General  O.  O.,  who  has 
subdued  something  or  other,  is  the  pacificator  of 
somebody  or  other,  but,  nevertheless,  does  not 
know  what  to  do  with  himself,  or  how  to  make 
himself  agreeable;  and  R.  R.,  an  amusing  fat 
man,  who  regards  himself  as  a  very  ailing  and 
very  clever  fellow,  but  is  as  healthy  as  an  ox  and 
as  stupid  as  a  stump.  This  R.  R.  is  almost  the 
only  person  who  in  our  day  still  preserves  the 
tradition  of  the  social  lions  of  the  '40's  of  the 
epoch  of  "  The  Hero  of  Our  Times  " '  and  of 
Countess  Vorotynsky.  He  has  retained  also  the 
gait  with  its  swing  from  the  heels,  and  "  le  culte 
de  la  pose  "  (which  cannot  even  be  expressed  in 
Russian),  and  the  unnatural  deliberation  of 
movement,  and  the  sleepy  majesty  of  expression 
on  the  impassive,  as  it  were  offended,  counte- 
nance, and  the  habit  of  interrupting  other  peo- 
ple's remarks  with  a  yawn,  carefully  inspecting 

M.  Y.  L£rmontoff.— THAXSLATOR. 
6 


SMOKE 

his  own  fingers  and  nails  the  while,  of  laughing 
straight  in  people's  faces,  of  suddenly  tilting  the 
hat  from  the  nape  of  the  neck  over  the  brows,  and 
so  forth,  and  so  forth.  There  were  also  even  gov- 
ernmental officials,  diplomats,  big-wigs  with  Eu- 
ropean reputations,  men  of  good  counsel  and 
sense,  who  imagine  that  the  golden  bull  was  issued 
by  the  Pope,  and  that  the  English  "  poor-tax  "  is 
an  impost  on  the  poor;  there  were,  in  conclusion, 
fiery  but  bashful  admirers  of  the  frail  fair  ones, 
young  society  dandies  with  their  hair  supremely 
well  parted  behind,  with  superb  pendent  side- 
whiskers,  attired  in  real  London  costumes,  young 
dandies  whom,  apparently,  nothing  could  prevent 
from  becoming  the  same  sort  of  vulgar  triflers  as 
the  renowned  French  chatterer;  but  no!  nothing 
native-born  is  in  vogue  with  us, — and  Countess 
Sh.,  the  well-known  law-giver  of  fashion, 
and  of  the  "  grand  genre,"  nicknamed  by  mali- 
cious tongues  "  The  Tzaritza  of  the  Wasps  "  and 

'  The  Medusa  in  a  Mob-cap,"  preferred,  in  the 
absence  of  the  prattler,  to  turn  to  the  Italians, 
Moldavians,  American  "  spiritists,"  dashing  sec- 
retaries of  foreign  legations,  petty  Germans  with 
effeminate  but  already  cautious  physiognomies, 
and  so  forth,  who  were  hovering  about  there  also. 
In  imitation  of  the  Countess's  example,  Princess 
Babette  also,  the  one  in  whose  arms  Chopin  died 

(there  are  about  a  thousand  ladies  in  Europe  in 
whose  arms  he  yielded  up  his  spirit) ,  and  Princess 

7 


SMOKE 

Annette,  who  would  have  possessed  every  charm 
were  it  not  that  from  time  to  time  suddenly,  like 
the  odour  of  cabbage  in  the  midst  of  the  finest 
amber,  the  common  country  washerwoman  had 
not  cropped  out ;  and  Princess  Pachette,  to  whom 
the  following  catastrophe  happened :  her  husband 
lighted  upon  a  conspicuous  position  and  all  of  a 
sudden,  Dieu  salt  pourquoi,  he  thrashed  the  mayor 
of  the  town  and  stole  twenty  thousand  rubles  of 
the  government  money ;  and  that  mirthful  maiden 
—Princess  Zizi,  and  tearful  Princess  Zozo;  all  of 
them  deserted  their  fellow-country  people  and 
treated  them  ungraciously.  .  .  But  let  us  also 
desert  them,  these  charming  ladies,  and  quit  the 
famous  tree  around  which  they  are  seated  in  such 
costly  but  rather  tasteless  toilettes,  and  may  the 
Lord  send  them  relief  from  the  ennui  which  is 
tormenting  them ! 


8 


II 

SEVERAL  paces  removed  from  the  "  Russian 
Tree,"  at  a  small  table  in  front  of  Weber's  cafe, 
sat  a  man  about  thirty  years  of  age,  of  medium 
stature,  lean  and  swarthy,  with  a  manly  and 
agreeable  face.  Bending  forward  and  leaning  on 
his  cane  with  both  hands,  he  sat  quietly  and  sim- 
ply, like  a  man  to  whom  the  idea  would  never  oc- 
cur that  any  one  was  noticing  him  or  taking  an 
interest  in  him.  His  large,  expressive  eyes,  brown 
with  a  tawny  tinge,  gazed  slowly  about  him,  now 
blinking  a  little  with  the  sunlight,  again  suddenly 
and  intently  following  some  eccentric  figure  that 
passed  by,  in  which  last  case  a  swift,  childlike 
smile  barely  moved  his  slight  moustache,  his  lips 
and  strong  physiognomy.  He  was  clad  in  a  loose 
frock-coat  of  German  cut,  and  his  soft  grey  hat 
half  concealed  his  lofty  brow.  At  first  sight  he 
produced  the  impression  of  an  honourable,  active 
and  rather  self-confident  young  fellow,  of  which 
sort  there  are  not  a  few  in  the  world.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  resting  from  prolonged  labours,  and 
with  all  the  more  singleness  of  mind  was  divert- 
ing himself  with  the  picture  which  unfolded  itself 
before  him,  because  his  thoughts  were  far  away, 
and  because,  moreover,  those  thoughts  were  re- 

9 


SMOKE 

volving  in  a  world  which  did  not  in  the  least  re- 
semble that  which  surrounded  him  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  was  a  Russian ;  his  name  was  Grigory 
Mikhailovitch  Litvinoff. 

We  must  make  his  acquaintance,  and  therefore 
it  becomes  necessary  to  narrate,  in  a  few  words, 
his  far  from  gay  or  complicated  past. 

The  son  of  a  retired  plodding  official  from  the 
merchant  class,  he  had  not  been  educated  in  town, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  but  in  the  country. 
His  mother  was  a  noble  by  birth,  a  girl  from  one 
of  the  Government  Institutes,  a  very  amiable 
and  very  enthusiastic  being,  yet  not  lacking 
in  strength  of  character.  Being  twelve  years 
younger  than  her  husband,  she  remodelled  his 
education  as  far  as  she  was  able,  dragged  him  out 
of  the  official  into  the  noble  rut,  tamed  and  sof- 
tened his  harsh,  vigorous  nature.  Thanks  to  her, 
he  had  come  to  dress  neatly  and  behave  with 
propriety,  and  had  left  off  swearing;  he  had 
come  to  respect  learned  men  and  learning,— 
although,  of  course,  he  never  took  a  book 
in  his  hand,— and  endeavoured  in  every  way  never 
to  derogate  from  his  dignity:  he  even  began  to 
walk  more  lightly,  and  he  spoke  in  a  subdued 
voice,  chiefly  on  lofty  subjects,  which  cost  him  no 
little  trouble.  "  Ekh!  I  'd  like  to  take  and  spank 
you! "  he  sometimes  said  to  himself,  but  aloud  he 
remarked:  "  Yes,  yes  ...  of  course;  that  is  the 
question."  Litvfnoff's  mother  had  put  her  house- 

10 


SMOKE 

hold  also  on  a  European  footing;  she  said  "  you  " 
to  the  servants,  and  permitted  no  one  to  overeat 
at  dinner  to  the  point  of  snoring.  So  far  as  the 
estate  which  belonged  to  her  was  concerned, 
neither  she  nor  her  husband  had  been  able  to  make 
anything  out  of  it:  it  had  long  been  neglected, 
but  was  extensive  with  various  meadows,  forests 
and  a  lake,  beside  which,  in  times  gone  by,  had 
stood  a  large  factory  established  by  the  zealous 
but  unsystematic  owner,  which  had  thriven  in  the 
hands  of  a  knavish  merchant,  and  had  finally 
come  to  ruin  under  the  direction  of  an  honest 
manager,  a  German.  Madame  Litvinoff  was  sat- 
isfied with  not  having  impaired  her  property  and 
with  having  contracted  no  debts.  Unfortunately, 
she  could  not  boast  of  good  health,  and  died  of 
consumption  during  the  very  year  that  her  son 
entered  the  Moscow  University.  He  did  not  fin- 
ish his  course,  owing  to  circumstances  (the  reader 
will  learn  later  on  what  they  were) ,  and  lounged 
about  in  the  country,  where  he  enjoyed  life  for  a 
considerable  time  without  occupation,  or  connec- 
tions, almost  without  acquaintances.  Thanks  to 
the  nobles  of  his  county,  who  were  ill-disposed  to- 
ward him,  and  imbued  not  so  much  with  the 
Western  theory  of  the  evils  of  "  absenteeism  "  as 
with  the  innate  conviction  that  "  charity  begins  at 
home,"  he  was  got  into  the  militia  in  1855,  and 
came  near  dying  of  typhus  in  the  Crimea,  where, 
without  having  beheld  a  single  "  ally,"  he  was 

11 


SMOKE 

quartered  for  six  months  in  an  earth-hut  on  the 
banks  of  the  Putrid  Sea;  then  he  served  in  the 
elections,  as  a  matter  of  course,  not  without  un- 
pleasantness, and  finding  himself  at  ease  in  the 
country  he  became  passionately  devoted  to  farm- 
ing. He  comprehended  that  his  mother's  prop- 
erty, badly  and  indolently  managed  by  his  now 
infirm  father,  did  not  yield  a  tenth  part  of  the 
income  which  it  was  capable  of  yielding,  and  that 
in  experienced  and  expert  hands  it  might  be  con- 
verted into  a  regular  gold  mine ;  but  he  also  com- 
prehended that  precisely  what  he  lacked  was  this 
experience  and  skill — and  he  betook  himself 
abroad  to  study  agronomy  and  technology— to 
study  them  from  the  very  foundation.  He  had 
spent  more  than  four  years  in  Mecklenburg, 
Silesia,  Karlsruhe,  he  had  travelled  in  Belgium 
and  in  England,  he  had  laboured  conscientiously, 
he  had  acquired  information:  it  had  not  been 
easily  acquired;  but  he  had  endured  the  ordeal 
to  the  end,  and  now,  confident  of  himself,  of  his 
future,  of  the  utility  he  could  bring  to  his  fellow- 
countrymen,  even  to  the  whole  country,  he  was 
preparing  to  return  to  his  native  land,  whither  his 
father,  utterly  disconcerted  by  the  emancipa- 
tion, by  the  division  of  lands,  by  the  redemption 
contracts,— by  the  new  order  of  things,  in  short,— 
was  summoning  him  with  despairing  adjurations 
and  entreaties  in  every  letter.  .  .  But  why  was 
be  in  Baden? 

12 


SMOKE 

He  was  in  Baden  because  from  day  to  day  he 
was  expecting  the  arrival  there  of  his  second 
cousin,  his  affianced  bride,— Tatyana  Petrovna 
Shestoff.  He  had  known  her  almost  from  child- 
hood, and  had  passed  the  spring  and  summer  with 
her  in  Dresden,  where  she  had  settled  with  her 
aunt.  He  sincerely  loved,  he  profoundly  re- 
spected his  young  relative,  and  having  completed 
his  obscure  preparatory  work,  and  being  on  the 
point  of  entering  upon  a  new  career,  of  beginning 
active,  not  state  service,  he  had  proposed  to  her, 
as  to  a  beloved  woman,  as  to  a  comrade  and  friend, 
that  she  should  unite  her  life  to  his  life— for  joy 
and  for  sorrow,  for  toil  and  for  repose,  "  for  bet- 
ter, for  worse,"  as  the  English  say.  She  had  con- 
sented, and  he  had  betaken  himself  to  Karlsruhe, 
where  he  had  left  his  books,  his  things  and  his 
papers.  .  .  But  why  was  he  in  Baden,  you  ask 
again? 

He  was  in  Baden  because  Tatyana's  aunt,  who 
had  reared  her,  Kapitolina  Markovna  Shestoff, 
an  elderly  spinster  of  fifty-five  years,  a  most  kind- 
hearted  and  honourable  eccentric,  a  free  soul,  all 
burning  with  the  fire  of  self-sacrifice  and  self- 
renunciation,  an  esprit  fort  (she  read  Strauss,— 
on  the  sly  from  her  niece,  it  is  true) ,  and  demo- 
crat, a  sworn  foe  of  grand  society  and  the  aris- 
tocracy, could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  take 
just  one  little  peep  at  that  same  grand  society  in 
such  a  fashionable  place  as  Baden.  .  .  Kapito- 

13 


SMOKE 

Una  Mdrkovna  dispensed  with  crinoline  and 
clipped  her  white  hair  in  a  shock,  but  luxury  and 
brilliancy  secretly  agitated  her,  and  she  found  it 
joyful  and  sweet  to  rail  against  them  and  despise 
them.  .  .  And  how  could  one  refuse  to  divert  the 
kindly  old  lady? 

But  Litvfnoff  was  so  calm  and  simple,  he  gazed 
about  him  so  confidently,  because  his  life  lay  be- 
fore him  with  precise  clearness,  because  his  fate 
had  been  settled,  and  because  he  was  proud  of  that 
fate,  and  was  rejoicing  in  it,  as  the  work  of  his 
own  hands. 


Ill 

"  BA!  ba!  ba!  here  he  is!  "  a  squeaking  voice  sud- 
denly rang  out  straight  in  his  ear,  and  a  flabby 
hand  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

He  raised  his  head,— and  beheld  one  of  his  few 
Moscow  acquaintances,  a  certain  BambaefF,  a  nice 
man,  one  of  the  triflers,  no  longer  young,  with 
cheeks  and  nose  as  soft  as  though  they  had  been 
boiled,  greasy,  dishevelled  hair,  and  a  flabby, 
obese  body.  Eternally  penniless  and  eternally  in 
raptures  over  something  or  other,  Rostislaff  Bam- 
baefF roamed  to  and  fro,  with  a  hurrah  but  with- 
out occupation,  over  the  face  of  our  long-suffer- 
ing mother  earth. 

'  The  very  person  I  wanted  to  see! " — he  re- 
peated, opening  wide  his  fat-obscured  little  eyes, 
and  thrusting  out  his  thick  little  lips,  above  which 
a  dyed  moustache  stuck  out  in  a  strange  and  in- 
appropriate manner. — "  Hurrah  for  Baden! 
Every  one  crawls  hither  like  black  beetles.  How 
didst  thou  get  here?  " 

BambaefF  addressed  positively  every  one  on 
earth  as  "  thou." 

"  I  arrived  three  days  ago." 

"Whence?" 

15 


SMOKE 

"  But  why  dost  thou  wish  to  know?  " 

"  Why,  indeed!  But  wait,  wait,  perhaps  thou 
dost  not  know  who  else  has  arrived  here?  Guba- 
ryoff!  That 's  who  is  here !  He  came  from  Hei- 
delberg yesterday.  Of  course  thou  knowest 
him?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  him." 

"  Only  that?  Good  gracious!  Instantly,  this 
very  minute,  I  shall  drag  thee  to  him.  Not  know 
such  a  man !  And,  by  the  way,  here  's  Voroshi- 
loff .  .  .  .  Stay,  perhaps  thou  dost  not  know  him 
either?  I  have  the  honour  to  present  you  to  each 
other.  Both  of  you  are  learned  men.  He  's  even 
a  very  phoenix.  Kiss  each  other!  " 

And  as  he  uttered  these  words,  Bambaeff 
turned  to  a  handsome  young  man  with  a  rosy  but 
already  serious  face,  who  was  standing  beside  him. 
Litvinoff  rose,  and  of  course  did  not  kiss  him, 
but  exchanged  a  brief  salute  with  the  "  phoenix," 
who,  judging  by  the  stiffness  of  his  demeanour, 
was  not  any  too  well  pleased  by  this  unexpected 
introduction. 

"  I  said  a  phoenix,  and  I  will  not  withdraw  the 
word,"  continued  Bambaeff : — "  go  to  Peters- 
burg, to  the  *  *  *  Cadet  Corps,  and  look  at  the 
golden  board— roll  of  honour — whose  name 
stands  first  there?  Voroshiloff  Semyon  Yakov- 
levitch!  But  Gubaryoff,  Gubaryoif,  my  dear 
fellows !  That 's  the  man  to  whom  we  must  run, 
run!  I  positively  worship  that  man!  And  I  'm 

16 


SMOKE 

not  the  only  one;  all,  without  distinction,  adore 
him.  What  a  work  he  is  now  writing,  oh  ... 
oh  ...  oh!" 

"What  is  the  work  about?"  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  About  everything,  my  dear  fellow,  in  the 
style  of  Buckle,  you  know  .  .  only  more  pro- 
found— more  profound.  .  .  In  it  everything  will 
be  settled  and  made  clear." 

"  And  hast  thou  read  that  work  thyself?  " 

"  Xo,  I  have  not;  and  it  is  even  a  secret  which 
must  not  be  divulged ;  but  from  Gubaryoff  every- 
thing is  to  be  expected,  everything!  Yes!" 
Bambaeff  sighed  and  folded  his  hands.—  '  What 
if  two  or  three  more  such  heads  were  bred  among 
us  in  Russia,  what  would  happen,  O  Lord  my 
God !  I  '11  tell  thee  one  thing,  Grigory  Mikhailo- 
vitch :  whatever  thou  mayest  have  been  occupying 
thyself  with  of  late,— and  I  do  not  know  what  thy 
interests  in  general  are, — whatever  may  be  thy 
convictions,— and  I  know  nothing  about  them 
either, — thou  wilt  find  something  to  learn  from 
him,  from  Gubaryoff.  Unfortunately,  he  will 
not  be  here  long.  We  must  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity,  we  must  go.  To  him,  to  him!  " 

A  passing  dandy  with  small  red  curls  and  a 
sky-blue  ribbon  on  his  low-crowned  hat  turned 
round  and  stared  at  Bambaeff  through  his  mon- 
ocle with  a  sarcastic  smile.  Litvfnoff  was  vexed. 

'Why   dost  thou   shout?"   he  ejaculated:— 

17 


SMOKE 

"  thou  yellest  as  though  after  a  hound!    I  have 
not  yet  dined." 

"  What  of  that!  We  can  dine  immediately  at 
Weber's  .  .  all  three.  .  Capital!  Hast  thou  the 
money  to  pay  for  me?  "  he  added  in  an  undertone. 

"  Yes,  yes;  only  really  I  do  not  know  ..." 

"  Stop,  please;  thou  wilt  thank  me,  and  he  will 
be  glad.  Akh,  my  God!  "  Bambaeff  broke  off.- 
"  They  're  playing  the  finale  from  '  Ernani.' 
How  charming!  A  som  .  .  .  mo  Carlo.  .  .  But 
what  a  fellow  I  am !  I  begin  to  cry  at  once.  Well, 
Semyon  Yakovlevitch !  Voroshiloff!  Shall  we 
go?" 

Voroshiloff,  who  was  still  standing  in  a  stiff 
and  stately  attitude,  maintaining  his  original 
somewhat  haughty  dignity  of  mien,  dropped  his 
eyes  significantly,  frowned,  and  bellowed  some- 
thing through  his  teeth  .  .  .  but  did  not  refuse; 
and  LitvinofF  said  to  himself :  "  Never  mind !  let 's 
do  it,  seeing  there  's  plenty  of  time."  Bambaeff 
slipped  his  arm  into  his,  but  before  setting  out 
for  the  cafe  he  beckoned  to  Isabella,  the  famous 
flower-girl  of  the  Jockey  Club:  it  had  occurred 
to  him  to  buy  a  bouquet  of  her.  But  the  aristo- 
cratic flower-girl  did  not  stir ;  and  why  should  she 
go  to  a  gentleman  without  gloves,  in  a  stained  vel- 
veteen jacket,  a  variegated  necktie,  and  patched 
boots,  whom  she  had  never  beheld  in  Paris  ?  Then 
Voroshiloff  beckoned  to  her  in  his  turn.  She 
went  to  him,  and  he,  selecting  from  her  basket  a 

18 


SMOKE 

tiny  bunch  of  violets,  tossed  her  a  gulden.  He 
had  thought  to  astonish  her  with  his  lavishness; 
but  she  never  moved  an  eyelash,  and  when  he 
turned  away  from  her  she  curled  her  closely-com- 
pressed lips  in  scorn.  Voroshiloff  was  very  fop- 
pishly, even  elegantly,  clad,  but  the  experienced 
eye  of  the  Parisienne  had  instantly  noted  in  his 
toilette,  in  his  very  gait,  which  bore  traces  of  early 
military  drilling,  the  absence  of  genuine,  thor- 
oughbred "  chic." 

When  our  acquaintances  had  seated  themselves 
in  Weber's  principal  room  and  had  ordered  din- 
ner, they  entered  into  conversation.  Bambaeff 
talked  loudly  and  fervently  about  the  lofty  sig- 
nificance of  Gubaryoff ,  but  soon  fell  silent,  and 
noisily  sighing  and  chewing,  clinked  glass  to 
glass.  Voroshiloff  ate  and  drank  little,  and  hav- 
ing questioned  Litvinoff  as  to  the  nature  of  his 
occupation,  began  to  express  his  own  opinions  .  . . 
not  so  much  with  regard  to  that  occupation  as  in 
general  about  various  "  questions."  .  .  He  sud- 
denly grew  animated  and  started  off  at  full  gal- 
lop, like  a  good  horse,  adroitly  and  sharply  em- 
phasising every  syllable,  every  letter,  like  a 
fine  dashing  young  cadet  at  his  final  ex- 
amination, and  waving  his  arms  violently,  but 
not  in  accord.  He  became  momentarily  more  vol- 
uble, more  energetic,  as  no  one  interrupted  him: 
it  was  exactly  as  though  he  were  reading  a  disser- 
tation or  a  lecture.  The  names  of  the  newest 

19 


SMOKE 

savants,  with  the  year  of  each  one's  birth  or  death 
added,  the  title  of  pamphlets  which  had  just  been 
published,  in  general  names,  names,  names,— 
fell  thick  and  fast  from  his  tongue,  affording  him 
the  highest  gratification,  which  was  reflected  in 
his  flashing  eyes.  Voroshiloff  evidently  despised 
everything  old,  prized  only  the  cream  of  culture, 
the  latest,  most  advanced  points  of  science;  to 
mention,  even  inopportunely,  the  book  of  some 
Doctor  Sauerbrengel  about  the  prisons  in  Penn- 
sylvania, or  an  article  which  had  appeared  the 
previous  day  in  The  Asiatic  Journal  about  the 
Vedas  and  the  Puranas  (he  said  it  in  just  that 
way:  "  Journal,"  although,  of  course,  he  did  not 
know  English)  — was  for  him  genuine  delight, 
felicity.  Litvinoff  listened  to  him,  listened  and 
could  not  in  the  least  understand  what  his  own 
speciality  was.  Now  he  turned  the  conversation 
upon  the  role  of  the  Celtic  race  in  history ;  again 
it  bore  him  off  to  the  ancient  world,  and  he  argued 
about  the  marbles  of  ^Egina,  harped  insistently 
on  the  sculptor  Onatas,  who  lived  before  Phidias, 
but  who,  in  his  hands,  was  transformed  into  Jona- 
than, and  thereby,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  im- 
parted to  his  whole  argument  a  biblical  or  Ameri- 
can colouring;  then  he  suddenly  jumped  to  polit- 
ical economy,  and  called  Bastia  a  fool  and  a 
blockhead,  "  as  much  so  as  Adam  Smith  and  all 
the  physiocrats  "  .  .  .  "Physiocrats!  "  Bambaeff 
whispered  after  him  .  .  .  "Aristocrats?  .  .  ." 

20 


SMOKE 

Among  other  things,  Voroshiloff  had  evoked  an 
expression  of  amazement  on  the  countenance  of 
that  same  Bambaeff  by  a  remark  carelessly  and 
lightly  dropped  concerning  Macaulay,  as  an  ob- 
solete author  who  had  been  left  in  the  lurch  by 
science ;  as  for  Gneist  and  Riehl,  he  declared  that 
it  was  merely  necessary  to  name  them,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  Bambaeff  shrugged  his 
shoulders  also.  "  And  all  this  at  one  burst,  with- 
out any  motive  whatever,  in  the  presence  of  stran- 
gers in  a  cafe,"  meditated  Litvinoff,  as  he  gazed 
at  the  blond  hair,  the  light  eyes,  the  white  teeth 
of  his  new  acquaintance  (he  was  particularly  dis- 
turbed by  those  huge,  sugar-like  teeth,  and  also 
by  those  arms,  with  their  inappropriate  flour- 
ishes) ;  "  and  he  does  not  smile  even  once;  and  yet 
he  must  be  a  kindly  young  fellow  and  extremely 
inexperienced.  .  ."  VoroshilofF  quieted  down  at 
last ;  his  voice,  youthfully  resonant  and  hoarse  as 
that  of  a  young  cock,  broke  a  little  .  .  .  and 
Bambaeff  in  the  nick  of  time  began  to  declaim 
verses,  and  again  almost  fell  to  weeping,  which 
produced  the  effect  of  a  row  at  one  neigh- 
bouring table,  around  which  an  English  family 
was  seated,  and  a  tittering  at  another:  two  cour- 
tesans were  dining  at  this  second  table  with  a  very 
aged  infant  in  a  lilac  wig.  The  waiter  brought 
the  bill;  the  friends  paid  it. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Bambaeff,  rising  heavily 
from  his  chair:— "now  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and 

21 


SMOKE 

march!  But  yonder  it  is,  our  Russia,"  he  added, 
halting  in  the  doorway,  and  almost  with  rapture 
pointing  with  his  soft,  red  hand  at  Voroshiloff 
and  Litvinoff.  .  .  "  What  do  you  think  of  it? " 

"  Yes,  Russia,"  thought  Litvinoff;  but  Voro- 
shiloff, who  had  already  again  succeeded  in  im- 
parting to  his  face  a  concentrated  expression, 
smiled  condescendingly,  and  lightly  clicked  his 
heels  together. 

Five  minutes  later  all  three  of  them  were 
mounting  the  stairs  of  the  hotel  where  Stepan 
Nikolaevitch  Gubaryoff  was  stopping.  .  .  A  tall, 
stately  lady,  in  a  bonnet  with  a  short  black  veil, 
was  descending  the  same  staircase,  and  on  catch- 
ing sight  of  Litvinoff  she  suddenly  turned  to  him 
and  halted,  as  though  struck  with  amazement. 
Her  face  flushed  for  a  moment, and  then  as  swiftly 
paled  beneath  the  close  meshes  of  the  lace;  but 
Litvinoff  did  not  notice  her,  and  the  lady  ran 
more  briskly  than  before  down  the  broad  steps. 


22 


IV 

"  GRIGORY  LITVIXOFF  is  a  jolly  good  fellow,  a 
Russian  soul;  I  recommend  him," exclaimed  Bam- 
baeff,  conducting  Litvinoff  up  to  a  man  of  short 
stature  and  the  appearance  of  the  landed  gentry 
class,  with  an  unbuttoned  collar,  in  a  short-tailed 
coat,  grey  morning  trousers,  and  slippers,  who 
was  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  bright,  capitally- 
furnished  room;—"  and  this,"  he  added,  turning 
to  LitvinoiF, — "  this  is  he,  the  very  man;  you  un- 
derstand? Well,  in  one  word,  Gubaryoff." 

Litvinoff  fixed  his  eyes  with  curiosity  on  "  the 
very  man."  At  first  he  perceived  nothing  unusual 
about  him.  He  beheld  before  him  a  gentleman 
of  respectable  and  rather  stupid  appearance,  with 
a  large  forehead,  large  eyes,  a  large  beard, 
a  thick  neck,  and  an  oblique  glance,  which  was 
directed  downward.  This  gentleman  simpered, 
muttered:  "  Mmm  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  that  's  good  .  .  . 
I  'm  delighted  .  .  .  ,"  raised  his  hand  to  his  own 
face,  and  immediately  turning  his  back  on  Lit- 
vinoff, strode  several  paces  across  the  carpet,  wab- 
bling slowly  and  strangely,  as  though  he  were 
walking  stealthily.  Gubaryoff  had  a  habit  of 
constantly  walking  to  and  fro,  incessantly  pluck- 

23 


SMOKE 

ing  at  and  combing  his  beard  with  the  tips  of  his 
long,  firm  nails.  In  addition  to  Gubaryoff  there 
was  in  the  room  a  lady  in  a  shabby  silk  gown, 
about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  a  remarkably  mobile 
face  as  yellow  as  a  lemon,  black  down  on  her  up- 
per lip,  and  vivacious  little  eyes  which  seemed  on 
the  point  of  popping  out;  a  thick-set  man  was 
also  sitting  there  doubled  up  in  a  corner. 

'  Well,  ma'am,  respected  Matrona  Semyo- 
novna,"  began  Gubaryoff,  addressing  the  lady, 
and  evidently  not  considering  it  necessary  to  in- 
troduce her  to  Litvinoff ; — "  dear  me,  what  was  it 
that  you  had  begun  to  tell  us?  " 

The  lady  (her  name  was  Matrona  Semyonovna 
Sukhantchikoff ;  she  was  a  widow,  childless,  not 
rich,  and  this  was  the  second  year  that  she  had 
spent  in  wandering  from  land  to  land)  immedi- 
ately began  to  talk  with  a  peculiar,  embittered 
enthusiasm : 

"  Well,  and  so  he  presents  himself  to  the 
Prince,  and  says  to  him : '  Your  Illustrious  High- 
ness,' says  he, — '  with  your  dignity  and  your  sta- 
tion, what  does  it  cost  you  to  alleviate  my  lot? 
You,'  says  he,  '  cannot  fail  to  respect  the  purity 
of  my  convictions!  And  is  it  possible,'  says  he, 
'  in  our  day  to  persecute  a  man  because  of  his  con- 
victions? '  And  what  do  you  think  the  Prince,— 
that  cultured,  highly-placed  dignitary— did?  " 

"Well,  what  did  he  do?"  ejaculated  Guba- 
ryoff, thoughtfully  lighting  a  cigarette. 

24 


SMOKE 

The  lady  drew  herself  up,  and  stretched  out  in 
front  of  her  her  bony  right  hand,  with  the  index 
finger  separated. 

"  He  called  his  lackey,  and  said  to  him :  '  Strip 
the  coat  off  this  man  and  take  possession  of  it. 
I  make  you  a  present  of  his  coat.' ' 

"  And  did  the  lackey  strip  it  off?  "  inquired 
Bambaeff,  clasping  his  hands. 

"  He  stripped  it  off  and  took  it.  And  that  was 
done  by  Prince  Barnauloff,  the  famous  rich  man, 
the  grandee,  invested  with  special  power,  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  government!  What  may  we 
expect  after  that! " 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff's  feeble  body  quiv- 
ered all  over  with  indignation,  convulsive  shivers 
flitted  across  her  face,  her  emaciated  bosom 
heaved  violently  beneath  her  flat  bodice;  it  is  un- 
necessary to  mention  her  eyes :  they  fairly  leaped. 
However,  they  were  always  leaping,  whatever  she 
was  talking  about. 

"  'T  is  a  crying,  crying  shame!"  ejaculated 
Bambaeff.— "  Hanging  is  too  good  for  him!  " 

"  Mmm  .  .  .  mmm  .  .  .  From  top  to  bottom 
it 's  all  rotten,"  remarked  Gubaryoff,  but  without 
raising  his  voice.—"  It  is  n't  a  case  for  hanging; 
.  .  .  't  is  a  case  .  .  .  for  other  measures." 

"  But  stay;  is  it  true? "  said  Litvmoff. 

"  Is  it  true? "  retorted  Madame  Sukhantchi- 
koff.— "  Why,  it 's  impossible  even  to  think  of 
doubting,  impossible  to  thi-i-i-ink  of  such  a 

25 


SMOKE 

thing.  ."  She  uttered  the  word  with  such  force 
that  she  fairly  writhed.—"  It  was  told  to  me  by  a 
most  reliable  man.  And  you  know  him,  Stepan 
Nikolaevitch— Kapiton  Elistratoff.  He  heard  it 
himself  from  an  eye-witness,  from  a  witness  of 
that  outrageous  scene." 

"What  Elistratoff?"  inquired  Gubaryoff.- 
"  The  one  who  was  in  Kazan?  " 

:'  The  very  man.  I  know,  Stepan  Nikola- 
itch,  that  a  rumour  was  circulated  about  him 
that  he  had  got  money  out  of  some  contractor 
or  distiller  or  other.  But  who  says  that?  Peli- 
kanoff !  And  can  one  believe  Pelikanoff,  when 
everybody  knows  that  he  is  simply— a  spy? " 

"  No,  permit  me,  Matrona  Semyonovna,"  in- 
terposed Bambaeff: — "  I  am  Pelikanoff's  friend; 
I  don't  believe  he  is  a  spy." 

'  Yes,  yes,  exactly  that,  a  spy!  " 

"  But  wait  a  bit,  please.  .  ." 

"  A  spy,  a  spy !  "  screamed  Madame  Sukhan- 
tchikoff .  " 

"  But  he  is  n't,  no,  wait ;  I  '11  tell  you  some- 
thing," shouted  Bambaeff  in  his  turn. 

"  A  spy,  a  spy! "  reiterated  Madame  Sukhan- 
tchikoff. 

"No,  no!  There's  Tenteleeff— that 's  quite 
another  matter! "  roared  Bambaeff  at  the  top  of 
his  voice. 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff  became  silent  for  a 
moment. 

26 


SMOKE 

"  I  know  it  for  a  fact,  with  regard  to  that  gen- 
tleman," continued  Bambaeff  in  his  ordinary 
voice,  "  that  when  the  Third  Section  summoned 
him  he  crawled  at  the  feet  of  Countess  Blazen- 
kampf  and  kept  whining : '  Save  me,  intercede  for 
me ! '  But  Pelikanoff  never  descended  to  such 
baseness." 

"Mm  .  .  .  Tenteleeff  .  .  ."  growled  Guba- 
ryoff: — "  that  .  .  that  must  be  noted." 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff  scornfully  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

"  Both  are  good,"  she  remarked: — "but  I  know 
a  still  better  anecdote  about  Tenteleeff.  As 
every  one  knows,  he  was  the  most  dreadful  tyrant 
with  his  people,  although  he  gave  himself  out  as 
an  emancipator.  Well,  one  day  he  was  sitting 
with  some  acquaintances  in  Paris,  when,  all  of  a 
sudden,  in  comes  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe, — well,  you 
know,  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  Tenteleeff,  a 
frightfully  conceited  man,  began  to  urge  the  host 
to  present  him;  but  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Stowe  heard 
his  name:  'What?'— says  she: — 'how  dares  he 
make  acquaintance  with  the  author  of  '  Uncle 
Tom'?  And,  whack,  she  slapped  his  face!— 
'Begone!'  says  she, — 'this  instant!' — And 
what  do  you  think?  Tenteleeff  took  his  hat, 
and  putting  his  tail  between  his  legs,  he  slunk 
off." 

'  Well,  that  strikes  me  as  exaggerated,"  re- 
marked Bambaeff.—  'That  she  did  say  '  Be- 

27 


SMOKE 

gone! '  to  him  is  a  fact;  but  she  did  not  slap  his 
face." 

"  She  did  slap  his  face,  she  did  slap  his  face," 
repeated  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  with  convul- 
sive intensity:—"  I  don't  talk  nonsense.  And 
you  are  the  friend  of  such  people !  " 

"  Excuse  me,  excuse  me,  Matrona  Semyo- 
novna,  I  never  asserted  that  Tenteleeff  was  an  in- 
timate friend  of  mine;  I  was  speaking  of  Peli- 
kanoff." 

"  Well,  if  it  was  n't  Tenteleeff,  it  was  some  one 
else:  Mikhnyoff,  for  instance." 

"What  did  he  do?"  asked  Bambaeff,  intimi- 
dated in  advance. 

"What?  Don't  you  really  know?  On  the 
Vosnesensky  Prospekt,  in  the  presence  of  every- 
body, he  shouted  out  that  ajl  liberals  ought  to 
be  in  prison;  and  then  an  old  boarding-school 
comrade,  a  poor  man,  of  course,  comes  up 
to  him,  and  says :  *  May  I  dine  with  you  ? ' 
But  he  answered  him :  *  No,  you  cannot ;  two 
Counts  are  to  dine  with  me  to-day  .  .  .  .  g' 
'way!' 

"  But  good  gracious,  that  is  a  calumny!  "  clam- 
oured Bambaeff. 

"A  calumny?  ...  a  calumny?  In  the  first 
place,  Prince  Vakhriishkin,  who  also  was  dining 
with  your  Mikhnyoff  .  .  ." 

"  Prince  Vakhrushkin,"  interposed  Gubaryoff 
sternly,— "is  my  first  cousin;  but  I  will  not  re- 

28 


SMOKE 

ceive  him.  .  .  Consequently,  there  is  no  use  of 
mentioning  him." 

"  In  the  second  place,"  continued  Madame 
Sukhantchikoff,  submissively  inclining  her  head 
in  the  direction  of  Gubaryoff:— "  Praskovya 
Yakovlevna  herself  told  me  so." 

"A  fine  person  to  allege  as  authority!  She 
and  Sarkisoff  are  first-class  inventors  of  tales." 

'  Well,  sir,  you  must  excuse  me;  Sarkisoff  is 
a  liar,  that 's  a  fact,  and  that  he  pulled  the  brocade 
pall  off  his  dead  father  I  will  never  deny;  but 
Praskovya  Yakovlevna,— what  a  comparison! 
Recollect  how  nobly  she  separated  from  her  hus- 
band! But  you,  I  know,  are  always  ready 
to " 

"  Come,  that  will  do,  that  will  do,  Matrona 
Semyonovna,"  Bambaeff  interrupted  her.—"  Let 
us  drop  this  tittle-tattle  and  soar  aloft.  I  'm  a 
poker  of  ancient  make,1  you  see.  Have  you  read 
'  M'lle  de  la  Quintinie  '  ?  It 's  charming  I  And 
with  exactly  your  principles!  " 

"  I  no  longer  read  romances,"  replied  Madame 
Sukhantchikoff,  drily  and  curtly. 

"Why?" 

Because  it  is  no  time  for  such  things;  I 
have  only  one  thing  in  my  head  now— sewing- 
machines." 

"  What  sort  of  machines?  "  inquired  Litvmoff. 

"  Sewing-,  sewing-machines;  all  women,  all, 

lAn  old-fashioned  man.— TRANSLATOR. 

29 


SMOKE 

must  supply  themselves  with  sewing-machines, 
and  form  a  society ;  in  that  way  they  will  all  earn 
their  living  and  will  at  once  become  independent. 
Otherwise,  they  cannot  possibly  free  themselves. 
It  is  an  important,  an  important  social  question. 
Boleslaff  Stadnitzky  and  I  had  such  a  dispute 
about  that.  Boleslaff  Stadnitzky  has  a  wonder- 
ful nature,  but  he  looks  on  these  things  in  a  fright- 
fully frivolous  way.  He  does  nothing  but  laugh. 
.  .  .  The  fool!"  ' 

"  All  men  will  be  summoned,  in  due  season,  to 
an  accounting — all  men  will  be  held  responsible," 
remarked  Gubaryoff  slowly,  in  a  partly  dogmatic, 
partly  prophetic  tone. 

'Yes,  yes,"  repeated  Bambaeff:— "  they  will 
be  held  responsible — exactly  so,  held  responsible. 
And  how  about  your  work,  Stepan  Nikolaitch," 
he  added,  lowering  his  voice: — "is  it  pro- 
gressing? " 

"  I  am  collecting  the  materials,"  replied  Guba- 
ryoff, knitting  his  brows;  and  turning  to  Litvi- 
noff,  whose  head  was  growing  giddy  with  that 
mess  of  names  which  were  unfamiliar  to  him, 
with  that  frenzy  of  gossip,  asked  him :  with  what 
did  he  occupy  himself? 

Litvinoff  satisfied  his  curiosity. 

"  Ah!  that  is  to  say  with  the  natural  sciences. 
That  is  useful,  as  a  school.  As  a  school,  not 
as  a  goal.  The  goal  now  should  be  .... 
mm  .  .  .  should  be  ...  something  else.  Per- 

30 


SMOKE 

mit  me  to  inquire,  with  what  opinions  do  you  take 
sides?" 

"What  opinions?" 

'  Yes ;  that  is  to  say,  what  are  your  political 
convictions? " 

Litvinoff  smiled. 

"  I  really  have  no  political  opinions  whatever." 

At  these  words  the  thick-set  man,  who  was  sit- 
ting in  the  corner,  suddenly  raised  his  head,  and 
gazed  attentively  at  Litvinoff. 

"  How  so? "  said  Gubaryoff,  with  strange 
gentleness.— "  Haven't  you  gone  into  the  sub- 
ject yet,  or  have  you  already  grown  tired  of  it?  " 

"  How  shall  I  explain  it  to  you?  It  seems  to 
me  that  it  is  still  too  early  for  us  Russians  to  have 
political  opinions,  or  to  imagine  that  we  have 
them.  Observe  that  I  give  to  the  word  *  political ' 
the  meaning  which  rightfully  belongs  to  it,  and 
that 

"  Aha !  you  're  one  of  the  unripe  ones,"  Guba- 
ryoff interrupted  him  with  the  same  gentleness, 
and  approaching  Voroshiloff,  he  asked  him: — had 
he  read  the  pamphlet  which  he  had  given  him? 

Voroshiloff,  who,  to  Litvinoff's  surprise,  had 
not  uttered  the  smallest  word  since  his  arrival,  but 
had  merely  scowled  and  rolled  his  eyes  about  (as 
a  rule  he  either  orated  or  maintained  complete 
silence) , — Voroshiloff  thrust  out  his  chest  in  mili- 
tary fashion,  and  clicking  his  heels  together, 
nodded  his  head  in  the  affirmative. 

31 


SMOKE 

"  Well,  and  what  then?    Were  you  pleased?  " 

"  So  far  as  the  principal  premises  are  con- 
cerned, but  I  do  not  agree  with  the  deductions." 

"  Mmm  .  .  .  but  Andrei  Ivanitch  praised  that 
pamphlet  to  me  very  highly.  You  must  state 
your  doubts  to  me  later  on." 

Gubaryoff  was  evidently  surprised :  he  had  not 
expected  this ;  but  after  reflecting  briefly,  he  artic- 
ulated : 

"  Yes,  in  writing.  By  the  way,  I  will  ask  you 
to  state  for  me  also  your  views  ....  as  to  ... 
as  to  association." 

"  Would  you  like  it  after  the  method  of  Las- 
salle,  or  of  Schulze-Delitzsch?  " 

"  Mmm  .  .  .  after  both  methods.  You  under- 
stand that  the  financial  side  is  especially  impor- 
tant for  us  Russians.  Well,  and  the  working- 
men's  union  *  as  the  kernel.  .  .  All  that  must  be 
taken  into  consideration.  It  must  be  thoroughly 
investigated.  And  there  is  the  question  of  the 
peasants'  allotments.  .  ." 

"  And  what  is  your  opinion,  Stepan  Nikola- 
itch,  as  to  the  suitable  amount  of  desyatmas? " 
inquired  Voroshiloff,  with  respectful  delicacy 
in  his  voice. 

"  Mmm  .  .  .  And  the  commune? "  said  Gu- 
baryoff with  profundity,  and  gnawing  a  tuft  of 

1  The  artdl,  which  represents  workingmen  united  in  voluntary,  elas- 
tic associations  for  the  purpose  of  fulfilling  contracts  to  advan- 
tage, insuring  trustworthiness,  and  so  forth.— TRANSLATOR. 

32 


SMOKE 

his  beard  he  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  leg  of  the  table. 

'  The  commune.  .  .  Do  you  understand? 
That  is  a  grand  word!  And  then,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  these  conflagrations  ....  these  gov- 
ernmental measures  against  Sunday-schools,1 
reading-rooms,  newspapers? — and,  in  conclusion, 
that  which  is  going  on  in  Poland?  Do  you  not  see 
to  what  all  this  is  leading,  that  .  .  .  mm  .  .  . 
that  we  .  .  .  we  must  now  fuse  ourselves  with  the 
people,  must  find  out  .  .  find  out  their  opinion?  " 
— Gubaryoff  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  painful, 
almost  malignant,  agitation;  he  even  turned  a 
greyish-brown  hue  in  the  face  and  breathed  more 
vehemently,  but  still  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes,  and 
continued  to  chew  his  beard. — "  Do  you  not 
see  ...  ." 

"  Evseeff  is  a  scoundrel!  "  suddenly  blurted  out 
Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  to  whom  Bambaeff  was 
narrating  something  in  an  undertone,  out  of  re- 
spect for  the  host.  Gubaryoff  wheeled  abruptly 
round  on  his  heels,  and  began  again  to  hobble  up 
and  down  the  room. 

New  guests  began  to  make  their  appearance; 
toward  the  end  of  the  evening  a  considerable  num- 
ber of  persons  had  assembled.  Among  them  came 
also  Mr.  Evseeff,  who  had  been  so  harshly  abused 
by  Madame  Sukhantchikoff:  she  chatted  with 

1  For  the  instruction  in  the  common  branches  of  workingmen  who 
are  occupied  on  week-days.  As  religion  forms  a  prominent  subject 
in  all  school-courses  in  Russia,  Sunday-schools  in  the  Western  sense 
of  the  word  are  unnecessary. — TRANSLATOR. 

33 


SMOKE 

him  in  a  very  friendly  manner,  and  asked  him  to 
escort  her  home;  there  came  also  a  certain  Pish- 
tchalkin,  an  ideal  arbitrator  of  the  peace,1  pre- 
cisely one  of  those  men  of  whom,  possibly,  Russia 
is  in  need,  namely— narrow,  badly  educated  and 
untalented  but  conscientious,  patient,  and  hon- 
ourable; the  peasants  of  his  district  almost  wor- 
shipped him,  and  he  treated  himself  with  extreme 
respect  as  an  individual  truly  worthy  of  homage. 
There  came  also  several  young  officers  who  had 
run  off  on  a  brief  leave  of  absence  to  Europe, 
and  were  delighted  at  the  opportunity,  cautiously, 
of  course,  and  without  banishing  from  their  minds 
a  mental  reservation  about  the  regimental  com- 
mander, to  indulge  themselves  with  clever  and 
rather  dangerous  people;  and  two  slender  young 
students  had  run  over  from  Heidelberg :  one  kept 
gazing  scornfully  about  him,  the  other  laughed 
spasmodically  .  .  and  both  were  very  ill  at  ease; 
after  them  a  Frenchman  pushed  his  way  in,  a  so- 
called  p'tit  jeune  homme:  dirty,  poor  and  stu- 
pid .  .  he  was  famous  among  his  comrades,  who 
were  travelling  salesmen,  because  Russian  Coun- 
tesses fell  in  love  with  him;  but  he  himself  was 
more  intent  on  a  gratuitous  supper;  last  of  all, 
Tit  Bindasoff  presented  himself,  with  the  aspect 
of  a  noisy  student,  but  in  reality  he  was  a  cur- 
mudgeon and  a  crafty  fellow,  in  speech  a  terror- 

1  An  official  appointed  at  the  time  of  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs 
to  decide  dissensions  between  them  and  the  landed  proprietors  arising 
out  of  the  distribution  of  the  land.  — TRANSLATOR. 

34 


SMOKE 

1st,  by  vocation  a  police-captain,  the  friend  of 
Russian  merchants'  wives  and  of  Parisian  cour- 
tesans, bald,  toothless,  drunken;  he  presented 
himself  in  a  very  crimson  and  evil  state,  asserting 
that  he  had  lost  his  last  kopek  to  that  "  little  rascal 
Benazet,"  when,  in  reality,  he  had  won  sixteen 
gulden.  .  .  In  a  word,  a  great  many  persons  as- 
sembled. The  respect  with  which  all  the  visitors 
treated  Gubaryoff  as  a  teacher  or  leader  was  re- 
markable—truly remarkable;  they  expounded  to 
him  their  doubts,  submitted  them  to  his  judg- 
ment; but  he  replied  .  .  with  a  bellow,  by  tug- 
ging at  his  beard,  by  rolling  his  eyes,  or  by 
fragmentary,  insignificant  words,  which  were  im- 
mediately caught  up  on  the  fly  like  utterances  of 
the  loftiest  wisdom.  Gubaryoff  himself  rarely 
joined  in  the  discussion;  on  the  other  hand,  the 
rest  zealously  strained  their  chests.  It  hap- 
pened more  than  once  that  three  or  four  were 
shouting  simultaneously  for  the  course  of  ten 
minutes,  but  every  one  was  satisfied  and  under- 
stood. The  conversation  lasted  until  after  mid- 
night, and  was  distinguished,  as  usual,  by  the 
abundance  and  the  variety  of  subjects.  Ma- 
dame Sukhantchikoff  talked  about  Garibaldi, 
about  some  Karl  Ivanovitch,  who  had  been 
flogged  by  his  own  house-serfs,  about  Napoleon 
III.,  about  female  labour,  about  merchant  Ples- 
katchyoff,  who,  according  to  common  know- 
ledge, had  starved  twelve  working-girls  to 

35 


SMOKE 

death,  and  had,  on  that  account,  received  a 
medal  with  the  inscription:  "  For  a  useful 
deed  " ;  about  the  proletariat,  about  the  Georgian 
Prince  Tchuktcheulidzeff ,  who  had  fired  his  wife 
from  a  cannon,  and  about  the  future  of  Russia; 
Pishtchalkin  also  talked  about  the  future  of  Rus- 
sia, about  government  monopolies,  about  the  sig- 
nificance of  nationality,  and  about  his  detesting 
commonplace  things  most  of  all ;  Voroshiloff  sud- 
denly broke  out:  in  one  breath,  and  almost  chok- 
ing himself  in  the  process,  he  mentioned  Draper, 
Virchow,  Mr.  Shelgunoff,  Bichat,  Helmholtz, 
Stahr,  Stuhr,  Raymond,  Johannes  Miiller  the 
physiologist,  Johannes  Miiller  the  historian,— evi- 
dently confounding  them, — Taine,  Renan,  Mr. 
Shtchapoff,  and  then  Thomas  Nash,  Peel, 
Greene.  .  .  "What  sort  of  birds  are  these?" 
muttered  Bambaeff  in  amazement.  '  The  prede- 
cessors of  Shakespeare,  who  bear  to  him  the  same 
relation  that  the  ramifications  of  the  Alps  bear 
to  Mont  Blanc ! "  replied  Voroshiloff  cuttingly, 
and  also  touched  upon  the  future  of  Russia. 
Bambaeff,  too,  talked  about  the  future  of  Rus- 
sia, and  even  painted  it  in  rainbow-tinted  colours, 
but  was  raised  to  special  rapture  by  the  thought 
of  Russian  music,  in  which  he  beheld  something 
''  Ukh!  great,"  and  in  confirmation  he  struck  up 
a  romance  by  Varlamoff ,  but  was  speedily  inter- 
rupted by  a  unanimous  shout  to  the  effect :  "  He  's 
singing  the  Miserere  from  *  Trovatore,'  and  sing- 
ing it  very  badly  at  that."  One  young  officer,  un- 

36 


SMOKE 

der  cover  of  the  uproar,  reviled  Russian  litera- 
ture, another  quoted  verses  from  the  "  Spark"; 
but  Tit  Bindasoff  behaved  still  more  simply:  he 
announced  that  all  those  rascals  ought  to  have 
their  teeth  knocked  out— and  enough  said!  with- 
out, however,  specifying  who  those  rascals  were. 
The  cigar-smoke  became  stifling;  every  one  was 
heated  and  languid,  all  had  grown  hoarse,  every 
one's  eyes  had  grown  dim,  the  perspiration  was 
coursing  in  streams  from  every  face.  Bottles  of 
cold  beer  made  their  appearance,  and  were  in- 
stantly emptied.  '  What  the  deuce  was  it  I 
was  saying?"  insisted  one;  "and  whom  and 
about  what  have  I  just  been  talking? "  inquired 
another.  And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  tumult 
and  smoke-laden  atmosphere  Gubaryoff  strode 
about  untiringly,  waddling  and  ruffling  his 
beard  as  before,  now  listening,  with  ear  inclined, 
to  some  one's  argument,  again  putting  in  a  word 
of  his  own,  and  every  one  involuntarily  felt  that 
he,  Gubaryoff,  was  the  matrix  of  the  whole  af- 
fair, that  he  was  the  master  and  chief  personage 
there.  .  .  . 

About  ten  o'clock  Litvinoff' s  head  began  to 
ache  violently,  and  he  quietly  withdrew,  availing 
himself  of  a  recrudescence  of  the  general  clam- 
our: Madame  SukhantchikofF  had  recalled  an- 
other piece  of  injustice  on  the  part  of  Prince 
Barnauloff:  he  had  practically  ordered  some 
one's  ear  to  be  bitten  off. 

The  fresh  night  air  clung  caressingly  to  Lit- 
37 


SMOKE 

vinoff' s  inflamed  face,  and  flowed  in  a  fragrant 
flood  between  his  parched  lips.  '  What  is  it?  "  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  strolled  along  the  dark  ave- 
nue: "  what  sort  of  a  thing  was  it  that  I  was  pres- 
ent at?  Why  did  they  meet  together?  Why  did 
they  shout  and  quarrel,  why  did  they  get  so  ex- 
cited? What's  the  use  of  it  all?"  Litvmoff 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  betook  himself  to 
Weber's,  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  ordered  an 
ice.  The  newspaper  discussed  the  Roman  ques- 
tion, and  the  ice  turned  out  to  be  bad.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  going  home,  when  suddenly  there 
stepped  up  to  him  a  stranger  in  a  broad-brimmed 
hat,  who,  remarking  in  Russian,  "  I  hope  I  do 
not  disturb  you?  "  seated  himself  at  his  little  table. 
Then  only  did  Litvmoff,  on  gazing  more  atten- 
tively at  the  stranger,  recognise  in  him  the  thick- 
set man  who  had  hidden  himself  in  the  corner  at 
Gubaryoff's  and  had  scrutinised  him  with  so  much 
attention  when  the  conversation  turned  on  politi- 
cal convictions.  During  the  whole  course  of  the 
evening  that  gentleman  had  not  opened  his 
mouth,  and  now,  having  seated  himself  beside 
Litvinoff  and  removed  his  hat,  he  gazed  at  him 
with  a  friendly  and  somewhat  embarrassed  look. 


38 


"  MR.  GUBARYOFF,  at  whose  house  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  to-day,"  he  began, — "  did 
not  introduce  me  to  you ;  so,  if  you  will  permit  me, 
I  will  introduce  myself:  Potugin,  retired  court 
councillor,  served  in  the  Ministry  of  Finance,  in 
St.  Petersburg.  I  hope  that  you  will  not  think  it 
strange.  .  I  am  not  generally  in  the  habit  of  mak- 
ing acquaintance  so  quickly,  .  .  but  with  you  .  .  ." 

Here  Potugin  began  to  stammer,  and  asked  a 
waiter  to  bring  him  a  glass  of  cherry  cordial. 
'  To  give  me  courage,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

Litvinoff  gazed  with  redoubled  attention  at 
this  last  one  of  all  the  new  persons  with  whom  it 
had  been  his  lot  to  come  in  contact  that  day,  and 
immediately  said  to  himself:  "  This  man  is  not 
like  those  others." 

And,  in  fact,  he  was  not.  Before  him,  running 
his  slender  fingers  along  the  edge  of  the  table, 
sat  a  broad-shouldered  man,  with  an  ample  body 
mounted  on  short  legs,  a  drooping,  curly  head, 
very  clever  and  very  melancholy  little  eyes  be- 
neath thick  eyebrows,  a  large,  regular  mouth, 
poor  teeth,  and  that  purely  Russian  nose  to  which 
the  name  of  "  potato  "  has  been  appropriated ; 

39 


SMOKE 

a  man  with  an  awkward  and  even  a  rather  wild, 
but  assuredly  not  a  commonplace,  aspect.  He 
was  negligently  dressed:  an  old-fashioned  coat 
sat  on  him  like  a  bag,  and  his  necktie  had  got 
twisted  to  one  side.  His  sudden  confidence  not 
only  did  not  impress  Litvinoff  as  an  intrusion, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  secretly  flattered  him :  it  was 
impossible  not  to  perceive  that  this  man  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  forcing  himself  upon  strangers. 
He  produced  a  strange  impression  upon  Litvi- 
noff: he  evoked  in  him  both  respect  and  sympa- 
thy, and  a  certain  involuntary  pity. 

"  So  I  do  not  disturb  you? "  he  repeated  in  a 
soft,  rather  hoarse  and  feeble  voice,  which  suited 
his  whole  figure  to  perfection. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Litvinoff;—"  on  the 
contrary,  I  am  very  glad." 

"  Really?  Well,  then,  I  am  glad  too.  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  about  you;  I  know  what  you 
are  occupying  yourself  with  and  what  your  inten- 
tions are.  'T  is  a  good  occupation.  That  is  the 
reason  you  were  taciturn  to-day,  by  the  way." 

'  Yes,  and  it  strikes  me  that  you  had  very  little 
to  say  also,"  remarked  Litvinoff. 

Potiigin  sighed. 

'  The  others  argued  a  very  great  deal,  sir.  I 
listened.  Well,"  he  added,  after  a  brief  pause, 
and  setting  his  brows  in  rather  comical  fashion, 

"  were  you  pleased  with  our  babel  of  an  up- 
roar?" 

40 


SMOKE 

"  It  was  a  regular  babel.  That  was  extremely 
well  said  on  your  part.  I  kept  wanting  to  ask 
those  gentlemen  why  they  were  making  such  a 
fuss." 

Again  Potiigin  sighed. 

'  That 's  precisely  the  point,  that  they  don't 
know  themselves,  sir.  In  former  times  people 
would  have  expressed  themselves  about  them  in 
this  manner :  '  They  are  the  blind  instruments  of 
the  highest  aims  ' ;  well,  but  nowadays  we  employ 
harsher  epithets.  And  observe  that  I  myself  have 
not  the  slightest  intention  of  condemning  them ;  I 
will  say  more,  they  are  all  .  .  that  is,  almost  all, 
very  fine  people.  I  know  a  great  deal  that  is 
good  about  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  for  exam- 
ple: she  gave  her  last  penny  to  two  poor  nieces. 
Let  us  assume  that  the  motive  there  was  a  desire 
to  show  off,  to  brag,  yet  you  must  admit  that  it 
was  a  noteworthy  bit  of  self-sacrifice  on  the  part 
of  a  woman  who  is  not  wealthy  herself!  About 
Mr.  Pishtchalkin  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak:  in 
due  time  the  peasants  of  his  district  will  infallibly 
present  him  with  a  silver  cup  in  the  shape  of  a 
watermelon,  and  possibly  a  holy  image  with  the 
picture  of  his  guardian  angel,  and  although  he 
will  tell  them  in  his  speech  of  thanks  that  he  does 
not  deserve  such  an  honour,  he  will  be  telling  an 
untruth:  he  does  deserve  it.  Your  friend,  Mr. 
Bambaeff,  has  a  splendid  heart;  it  is  true  that, 
with  him,  as  with  the  poet  Yazykoff,  who,  they 

41 


SMOKE 

say,  extolled  debauchery  while  he  sat  over  a 
book  and  drank  water,  enthusiasm  is  really  not 
directed  at  anything,  but  it  is  enthusiasm,  never- 
theless; and  Mr.  Voroshiloff  is  extremely  kind 
also ;  he  is  like  all  the  men  of  his  school,  the  men 
of  the  gilded  classes,  who  seem  to  be  sent  expressly 
as  orderlies  to  science,  to  civilisation ;  and  he  even 
holds  his  tongue  pompously:  but  he  is  so  young 
still!  Yes,  yes,  they  are  all  excellent  people,  but 
the  sum  total  is  nothing;  the  provisions  are  first- 
class,  but  the  dish  is  n't  fit  to  put  in  your 
mouth!" 

Litvmoif  listened  to  Potugin  with  increasing 
amazement:  all  his  ways,  all  the  turns  of  his  de- 
liberate, but  self-confident  speech,  revealed  both 
understanding  and  the  desire  to  talk. 

Potugin,  in  fact,  both  liked  and  understood 
how  to  talk ;  but,  as  a  man  out  of  whom  life  had 
already  succeeded  in  eliminating  conceit,  he 
awaited  with  philosophical  composure  his  oppor- 
tunity, an  encounter  after  his  own  heart. 

'  Yes,  yes,"  he  began  again,  with  a  humour  not 
sickly,  but  sad,  which  was  peculiarly  characteris- 
tic of  him:—  "  all  that  is  very  strange,  sir.  And 
here  is  another  thing  which  I  will  beg  you  to  note. 
When  ten  Englishmen,  for  example,  come  to- 
gether, they  immediately  begin  to  discuss  the  sub- 
marine telegraph,  the  tax  on  paper,  the  process  of 
dressing  rats'  skins,— that  is  to  say,  something 
positive,  something  definite;  let  ten  Germans 

42 


SMOKE 

come  together, — well,  there,  of  course,  Schleswig- 
Holstein  and  the  unity  of  Germany  make  their 
appearance  on  the  scene;  if  ten  Frenchmen  as- 
semble the  conversation  will  infallibly  touch  on 
*  piquant  adventures,'  let  them  evade  it  as  they 
will ;  but  when  ten  Russians  get  together  the  ques- 
tion instantly  arises,— you  have  had  an  opportu- 
nity to-day  of  convincing  yourself  on  that  point, 

—the  question  as  to  the  significance,  the  future 
of  Russia,  and  that  in  just  such  general  terms, 
beginning  with  Leda's  eggs,  insusceptible  of 
proof,  without  any  issue.  They  chew  and  chew 
on  that  question,  as  a  small  child  does  on  a  piece 
of  india  rubber:  there  's  no  juice  or  sense  in  it. 
Well,  and,  by  the  way,  of  course  the  rotten  West 
catches  it  also.  A  pretty  preachment,  as  you  can 
imagine!  it  beats  us  at  every  point,  that  West— 
but  it 's  rotten !  And  even  if  we  did  really  despise 
it,"  continued  Potugin:— "  nevertheless,  all  that 
is  mere  phrase-making  and  lies.  We  certainly  do 
revile  it,  but  its  opinion  is  the  only  one  we  value 

—that  is  to  say,  the  opinion  of  Parisian  cox- 
combs. I  have  an  acquaintance,  and  a  very  nice 
sort  of  man  he  is,  apparently,  the  father  of  a 
family,  and  no  longer  young;  and  that  man  was 
in  a  state  of  depression  for  several  days  because 
he  had  ordered  une  portion  de  biftek  auoc  pommes 
de  terre.,  while  a  real  Frenchman  immediately 
shouted  out:  'Garpon!  biftek  pommes!'  My  friend 
was  consumed  with  shame!  And  afterward  he 

43 


SMOKE 

shouted  everywhere :  f  Biftek  pommes! '  and 
taught  others.  The  very  courtesans  are  as- 
tounded at  the  devout  tremor  wherewith  our 
young  fellows  from  the  steppes  enter  their  igno- 
minious drawing-rooms.  .  .  '  Good  heavens ! ' 
they  say  to  themselves,  '  am  I  really  here?  At 
Annah  Deslions ! ' 

"  Please  tell  me,"  inquired  Litvinoff,  "  to  what 
do  you  ascribe  the  indubitable  influence  of  Guba- 
ryoff  on  all  the  people  around  him?  Not  to  his 
gifts  or  to  his  capacities? " 

"  No,  sir;  no,  sir ;  he  has  nothing  of  that  sort. . ." 

;<  To  his  character,  then?  " 

"  He  has  not  that  either,  but  he  has  a  great  deal 
of  will,  sir.  We  Slavonians  in  general,  as  is  well 
known,  are  not  rich  in  that  attribute,  and  we  give 
up  in  presence  of  it.  Mr.  Gubaryoff  desired  to 
be  a  leader,  and  every  one  has  recognised  him  as 
a  leader.  What  would  you  have  done  about  it? 
The  government  has  released  us  from  serfdom, 
and  we  thank  it;  but  the  habits  of  serfdom  have 
taken  too  profound  a  root  in  us ;  we  shall  not  soon 
rid  ourselves  of  them.  In  everything  and  every- 
where we  want  a  master;  this  master,  in  the  ma- 
jority of  cases,  is  a  vivacious  individual;  some- 
times some  so-called  tendency  acquires  a  power 
over  us  ...  now,  for  example,  we  have  all  bound 
ourselves  as  slaves  to  the  natural  sciences.  .  . 
Why,  by  virtue  of  what  reasons,  we  enroll  our- 
selves as  slaves,  is  an  obscure  matter;  evidently 

44 


such  is  our  nature.  But  the  principal  point  is 
that  we  should  possess  a  master.  Well,  and  there 
we  have  him ;  that  means  he  is  ours,  and  we  don't 
care  a  copper  about  the  rest!  Purely  bondmen! 
Both  the  pride  of  the  bondman  and  the  humilia- 
tion of  the  bondman.  A  new  master  has  come 
into  existence— away  with  the  old  one !  The  other 
was  named  Yakoff,  this  one  is  called  Sidor;  give 
YakofF  a  box  on  the  ears,  fall  at  the  feet  of  Sidor ! 
Recollect  how  many  tricks  of  that  sort  have  taken 
place  among  us !  We  prattle  about  renunciation 
as  our  distinguishing  characteristic ;  but  we  do  not 
exercise  renunciation  like  a  free  man  wrho  smites 
with  his  sword,  but  like  a  lackey,  who  administers 
a  thrashing  with  his  fist,  and,  what  is  more,  admin- 
isters a  thrashing  at  his  master's  behest.  Well, 
sir,  and  we  are  also  a  soft  race;  it  is  not  difficult 
to  keep  a  tight  hand  over  us.  And  that 's  the  way 
Mr.  GubaryofF  has  come  to  be  a  master ;  he  ham- 
mered and  hammered  away  at  one  point  until  he 
attained  his  object.  People  perceive  that  a  man 
has  a  great  opinion  of  himself,  believes  in  himself, 
issues  orders— the  principal  thing  is  to  issue  or- 
ders; they  conclude  that  he  is  right  and  that  he 
must  be  obeyed.  All  our  sectarians,  our  sects 
of  Omiphry  and  of  Akulfna,1  had  their  origin  in 

1  Oniifry—  the  founder  of  the  priestless  sect  of  the  Old  Ritual- 
ists: born  1829.— Akulfna  Ivanovna  was  the  name  of  three  of  the 
so-called  Birthgivers  of  God  (Madonnas)  in  the  Scourgers'  and 
Skoptzy  sects.  Hence,  one  heresy  received  from  them  the  appella- 
tion of  "  Akulinovshtchina." — TRANSLATOR. 

45 


SMOKE 

precisely  this  manner.     He  who  has  seized  the 
staff  is  the  commander." 

Potiigin's  cheeks  had  flushed  crimson  and  his 
eyes  had  grown  dim;  but,  strange  to  say,  his 
speech,  bitter  and  even  malicious  though  it  was, 
did  not  smack  of  gall,  but  rather  of  sadness,  and 
upright,  genuine  sadness  at  that. 

"  How  did  you  become  acquainted  with  Guba- 
ryoff?  "  inquired  Litvinoff. 

"  I  have  known  him  for  a  long  time,  sir.  And 
observe  another  queer  thing  about  us:  a  man— 
for  instance,  an  author  possibly— has  been  revil- 
ing drunkenness  all  his  life,  in  verse  and  in  prose, 
and  upbraiding  .  .  .  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  takes 
and  buys  two  distilleries  himself  and  leases  a  hun- 
dred dram-shops — and  it's  nothing!  People 
would  wipe  another  man  off  the  face  of  the  earth, 
but  they  do  not  even  reproach  him.  Now  there  's 
Mr.  GubaryofF :  he  's  a  Slavophil,  and  a  demo- 
crat, and  a  socialist,  and  anything  else  you  like, 
but  his  estate  always  has  been  managed  and  is  still 
managed  by  his  brother,  a  master  of  the  ancient 
type,  one  of  the  sort  who  were  called  '  Danteists.' 
And  that  same  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  who 
represents  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe  as  slapping  Ten- 
teleeff's  face,  almost  crawls  before  Gubaryoff. 
But,  you  know,  the  only  thing  about  him  is  that 
he  reads  clever  books  and  is  forever  trying  to  get 
down  into  the  depths.  As  to  his  gift  of  language, 
you  have  been  able  to  judge  for  yourself  to-day; 

46 


SMOKE 

and  thank  God,  too,  that  he  says  but  little,  and 
only  writhes  all  the  time.  Because,  when  he  is 
in  the  mood  and  lets  himself  go  freely,  then  it  is 
more  than  even  I,  a  long-suffering  man,  can  tol- 
erate. He  begins  to  banter  and  to  narrate  filthy 
anecdotes, — yes,  yes,  our  great  Mr.  Gubaryoff 
narrates  filthy  anecdotes  and  laughs  so  abomina- 
bly the  while 

"  Are  you  really  so  long-suffering?  "  said  Lit- 
vinoff.—  "  I  should  have  supposed  the  contrary. 
.  .  .  But  permit  me  to  inquire,  what  is  your  name 
and  your  patronymic? " 

Potugin  sipped  a  little  of  the  cherry  cordial. 

"  My  name  is  Sozont  .  .  Sozont  Ivanitch. 
They  gave  me  that  very  beautiful  name  in  honour 
of  a  relative,  an  Archimandrite,  to  whom  I  am 
indebted  for  this  alone.  I  am  of  the  ecclesiastical 
race,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  express  myself  thus. 
And  you  make  a  mistake  in  doubting  that  I  am 
patient:  I  am  patient.  I  served  for  two  and 
twenty  years  under  my  uncle,  actual  state  coun- 
cillor Irinarkh  Potugin.  You  did  not  know 
him?" 

"  No." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  that.  No,  I  am  pa- 
tient. But  '  let  us  return  to  the  first  point,'  as 
my  colleague,  the  burnt-alive  Archpriest  Avak- 
kum *  was  accustomed  to  say.  I  am  amazed,  my 

1  Ava"kkum  Petrdvitch,  an  ardent  preacher  of  the  doctrines  of  the 
Old  Ritualists,  who  refused  to  accept  the  corrections  (typo- 
graphical and  other)  made  in  the  Scriptures  and  Church  Service 

47 


SMOKE 

dear  sir,  at  my  fellow-countrymen.  They  are  all 
low-spirited,  they  all  go  about  in  a  dejected  way, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  they  are  all  filled  with  hope, 
and  at  the  slightest  excuse  they  fairly  go  mad. 
Now  take  the  Slavophils,  among  whom  Mr. 
Gubaryoff  reckons  himself:  they  are  very  fine 
people,  but  there  's  the  same  mixture  of  despair 
and  irritation,  and  they  also  live  in  the  future. 
It 's  all  coming,  it 's  coming,  they  say.  There  's 
nothing  in  hand  at  the  present  moment,  and  Rus- 
sia, in  the  course  of  ten  whole  centuries,  has  never 
worked  out  a  single  thing  of  her  own,  neither  in 
government,  nor  in  courts  of  justice,  nor  in  sci- 
ence, nor  in  art,  nor  even  in  the  handicrafts.  .  . 
But  wait;  have  patience:  everything  will  come. 
And  why  will  it  come,  allow  me  to  inquire? 
Because,  forsooth,  we  are  pultured  people,— 
— stuff  and  nonsense;  but  the  people  .  .  oh,  it  's 
a  grand  people!  Do  you  see  that  peasant  coat? 
that  's  what  all  will  proceed  from.  All  the 
other  idols  have  been  smashed;  but  let  us  have 
faith  in  the  peasant  coat.  Well,  and  what 
if  the  peasant  coat  betrays  you?  No,  it  will  not 
betray;  read  Madame  Ivokhanovsky,1  and  roll 
your  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling !  Really,  if  I  were  an 

books  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great's  father.  Avdkkum  was 
forced  to  become  a  monk,  banished  to  Siberia,  brought  back  to 
Moscow,  imprisoned,  and  eventually  banished  again  to  Pust6zersk, 
Arkhangel  Government.  For  his  persistent  heretical  propaganda 
he  and  his  companions  were  burned  alive  in  1681. — TRANSLATOR. 

'Nadezhda  Stepanovna  Sokha"nsky  (1825-1884),  who  wrote  un- 
der the  name  of  "  Kokhan6vsky." — TRANSLATOR. 

48 


SMOKE 

artist  this  is  the  sort  of  a  picture  I  would  paint : 
a  cultivated  man  is  standing  in  front  of  a  peasant 
and  bowing  low  to  him :  '  Heal  me,  my  dear  peas- 
ant, says  he,  '  I  am  perishing  with  disease  ' ;  but 
the  peasant,  in  his  turn,  bows  low  before  the  edu- 
cated man.  *  Please  teach  me,  dear  master,'  says 
he,  '  I  am  perishing  with  ignorance.'  Well,  and 
of  course  both  of  them  stick  right  where  they  are. 
But  all  that  is  needed  is  really  to  become  humble, 
—not  in  words  alone, — and  adopt  from  our  elder 
brothers  that  which  they  have  invented— better 
than  we  and  earlier  than  we!  Waiter,  another 
glass  of  cherry  cordial !  You  must  not  think  that 
I  am  a  drunkard,  but  alcohol  loosens  my  tongue." 
"  After  what  you  have  just  said,"  observed  Lit- 
vinoff,  with  a  smile,—"  it  is  not  worth  while  for 
me  to  ask  to  what  party  you  belong  and  what 
opinion  you  hold  concerning  Europe.  But  per- 
mit me  to  make  one  remark.  Here  you  say  that 
we  ought  to  borrow,  to  adopt  from  our  elder 
brothers;  but  how  can  we  adopt  without  taking 
into  consideration  the  conditions  of  climate  and 
soil,  with  local  and  national  peculiarities?  I  re- 
member that  my  father  ordered  from  Butenop's 
foundry  a  splendidly  recommended  winnowing- 
machine ;  the  winnowing-machine  really  was  very 
good.  But  what  happened?  For  five  whole  years 
it  stood  in  the  shed  utterly  useless,  until  it  was  re- 
placed by  a  wooden  American  machine,— which 
was  much  better  suited  to  our  manner  of  life  and 

49 


SMOKE 

to  our  habits,  as  American  machines  are,  in  gen- 
eral. It  is  impossible  to  adopt  things  at  hap- 
hazard, Sozont  Ivanitch." 

Potugin  raised  his  head  a  little. 

"  I  did  not  expect  that  sort  of  retort  from  you, 
most  respected  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"  he  be- 
gan, after  a  brief  pause. — "  And  who  forces  you 
to  adopt  at  haphazard?  Surely  you  take  a  for- 
eign thing  not  because  it  is  foreign,  but  because 
you  find  it  suitable :  consequently,  you  do  take  the 
circumstances  into  consideration,  you  do  make  a 
selection.  And  so  far  as  the  results  are  concerned, 
pray  do  not  disturb  yourself:  they  will  be  orig- 
inal by  virtue  of  precisely  those  local,  climatic  and 
other  conditions  to  which  you  allude.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  offer  good  food,  and  the  natural 
stomach  will  digest  it  after  ita  own  fashion ;  and, 
in  course  of  time,  when  the  organism  shall  have 
gained  strength,  it  will  yield  its  own  sap.  Just 
take  our  language  as  an  example.  Peter  the 
Great  deluged  it  with  thousands  of  foreign  words 
—Dutch,  French,  and  German:  those  words  ex- 
pressed conceptions  with  which  it  was  necessary 
to  make  the  Russian  nation  acquainted;  without 
philosophising,  and  without  standing  on  cere- 
mony, Peter  poured  those  words  wholesale,  by 
the  bucketful,  by  the  cask,  into  our  bosom.  At 
first,  it  is  true,  the  result  was  something  mon- 
strous, but  later  on— precisely  that  digestive  pro- 
cess set  in  which  I  have  mentioned  to  you.  The 

50 


SMOKE 

conceptions  became  grafted  on  and  appropriated ; 
the  foreign  forms  gradually  evaporated;  the  lan- 
guage found  in  its  own  bosom  the  wherewithal  to 
replace  them— and  now,  your  humble  servant,  a 
very  mediocre  master  of  style,  will  undertake  to 
translate  any  page  you  please  from  Hegel,— yes, 
sir;  yes,  sir;  from  Hegel, — without  making  use 
of  a  single  non- Slavonic  word.  That  which  has 
taken  place  with  the  language  will,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  take  place  in  other  spheres.  The  whole 
question  lies  here— is  nature  strong?  But  our  na- 
ture is  all  right ;  it  will  stand  the  strain :  that 's  not 
where  the  great  difficulty  lies.  Only  nervous  in- 
valids and  weak  nations  can  fear  for  their  health, 
for  their  independence;  and  just  so,  only  idle 
people  are  capable  of  going  into  raptures  until 
they  foam  at  the  mouth,  because,  forsooth,  we  are 
Russians,  say  they.  I  am  very  solicitous  about 
my  health,  but  I  don't  go  into  raptures  over  it: 
I  'm  ashamed  to,  sir." 

"  All  that  is  true,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  began  Lit- 
vinoff  in  his  turn:—  "  but  why  must  we,  inevita- 
bly, be  subjected  to  such  tests?  You  say  yourself 
that  the  first  result  was  something  monstrous! 
Well — and  what  if  that  monstrous  thing  had  re- 
mained monstrous?  And  it  has  remained  so;  you 
know  it  has." 

"  But  not  in  the  language — and  that  means  a 
great  deal!  But  I  did  not  make  our  nation;  I 
am  not  to  blame  if  it  is  fated  to  pass  through  such 

51  _ 


SMOKE 

a  school.  '  The  Germans  were  developed  regu- 
larly,' cry  the  Slavophils :  '  give  us  regular  devel- 
opment also ! '  But  where  is  one  to  get  it  when 
the  very  first  historical  action  of  our  tribe— sum- 
moning to  themselves  princes  from  over-sea—is 
an  irregularity  to  start  with,  an  anomaly  which 
is  repeated  in  every  one  of  us,  down  to  the  present 
day ;  every  one  of  us,  at  least  once  in  his  life,  has 
infallibly  said  to  something  foreign,  non-Russian : 
'  Come,  exercise  authority  and  reign  over  me!  '- 
I  am  ready,  if  you  like,  to  admit  that,  when  we 
introduce  a  foreign  substance  into  our  own  body, 
we  cannot,  by  any  means,  know  with  certainty 
beforehand  what  it  is  we  are  introducing :  a  bit  of 
bread  or  a  bit  of  poison;  for,  assuredly,  it  is  a 
familiar  fact  that  you  never  pass  from  bad  to 
good  through  better,  but  always  through  worse — 
and  poison  is  useful  in  medicine.  Only  dolts  or 
sharpers  can  decently  point  with  triumph  at  the 
poverty  of  the  peasants  after  the  Emancipation, 
at  their  increased  drunkenness  after  the  abroga- 
tion of  the  liquor  monopoly.  .  .  .  Through  worse 
to  good! " 

Potugin  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 

"  You  asked  me  my  opinion  concerning  Eu- 
rope," he  began  again:—"  I  am  amazed  at  it  and 
devoted  to  its  principles  to  the  last  degree,  and 
do  not  consider  it  necessary  to  conceal  the  fact. 
For  a  long  time  .  .  no,  not  for  a  long  time  .  . 
for  some  time  past  I  have  ceased  to  be  afraid  to 

52 


SMOKE 

give  utterance  to  my  convictions  .  .  .  even  you, 
you  see,  did  not  hesitate  to  announce  to  Guba- 
ryoff  your  mode  of  thought.  I,  thank  God,  have 
ceased  to  conform  to  the  ideas,  the  views,  the 
habits  of  the  man  with  whom  I  am  conversing. 
In  reality,  I  know  of  nothing  worse  than  that 
useless  cowardice,  that  base-spirited  willingness 
to  please  by  virtue  of  which,  as  you  see,  one  of 
our  grave  dignitaries  humours  some  little  student 
who  is  of  no  account  in  his  eyes,  almost  sports 
with  him,  runs  after  him  like  a  hare.  Well,  let 
us  assume  that  the  dignitary  behaves  in  this  man- 
ner out  of  a  desire  for  popularity;  but  why 
should  plebeians  like  me  shift  and  shuffle?  Yes, 
sir,  yes,  sir,  I  am  an  Occidentalist,  I  am  devoted 
to  Europe— that  is,  to  speak  more  accurately,  I 
am  devoted  to  culture,  to  that  same  culture  at 
which  people  so  charmingly  jeer  nowadays  in  our 
country, — to  civilisation — yes,  yes,  that  word  is 
even  better,  and  I  love  it  with  all  my  heart,  and  I 
believe  in  it,  and  I  have  not  and  never  shall  have 
any  other  faith.  That 's  the  word :  ci .  . .  vi .  . .  li- 
...  sa  ...  tion  "  (Potugin  pronounced  each  syl- 
lable distinctly  with  emphasis) ;  "it  is  intelligi- 
ble, and  pure,  and  holy,  but  all  the  others, 
whether  it  be  nationality,  or  glory,  smell  of 
blood.  .  .  I  want  nothing  to  do  with  them ! " 

"  Well,  but,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  you  love  Russia, 
your  native  land? " 

Potugin  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 

53 


SMOKE 

"  I  love  it  passionately,  and  I  hate  it  passion- 
ately." 

LitvinofF  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  That 's  old,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  that 's  a  com- 
monplace." 

"  Well,  what  of  that?  What 's  the  harm?  A 
pretty  thing  to  take  fright  at! — A  commonplace! 
I  know  many  fine  commonplaces !  Here  now,  for 
example:  liberty  and  order — that's  a  familiar 
commonplace.  Is  it  better,  in  your  opinion,  to 
have,  as  with  us,  servility  and  disorder?  And, 
moreover,  are  all  those  phrases  wherewith  so  many 
young  heads  become  intoxicated:  the  despised 
bourgeoisie,  souverainete  du  peuple.,  the  right  to 
labor,— are  not  they  also  commonplaces?  And 
how  about  love,  inseparable  from  hatred?  .  ." 

"  Byronism,"  interrupted  „  Litvinoff :—  "  ro- 
manticism of  the  '30 's." 

'  You  are  mistaken,  excuse  me ;  Catullus,  the 
Roman  poet  Catullus,  was  the  first  to  point  out 
that  blending  of  sentiments,  two  thousand  years 
ago.1  I  learned  that  by  reading  him,  because 
I  know  something  of  Latin,  in  consequence  of  my 
ecclesiastical  extraction,  if  I  may  venture  so  to 
express  myself.  Yes,  sir,  I  both  love  and  hate  my 
Russia,  my  strange,  dear,  dreadful,  beloved  fa- 
therland. Now  I  have  abandoned  it;  I  had  to 
air  myself  a  bit,  after  sitting  for  twelve  years  at 

lOdi  et  amo.     Quare  id  faciam,  fortasse,  requiris? 
Nescio:  sed  fieri  sentio  et  excrucior. 

Catullus,  LXXXVI. 

54 


SMOKE 

a  government  desk,  in  a  government  building ;  I 
have  abandoned  Russia,  and  I  find  it  agreeable 
and  jolly  here;  but  I  shall  soon  return,  I  feel  it. 
Garden  soil  is  good— but  cloudberries  will  not 
grow  on  it!  " 

'  You  find  it  pleasant  and  jolly,  and  I  am  at 
ease  here,"  said  Litvinoff.— "  And  I  came  hither 
to  study;  but  that  does  not  prevent  my  seeing 
such  little  pranks  as  that.  .  ."  He  pointed  to  two 
passing  courtesans,  around  whom  several  mem- 
bers of  the  Jockey  Club  were  grimacing  and  lisp- 
ing, and  at  the  gambling-hall,  which  was  packed 
full,  in  spite  of  the  late  hour. 

"  But  who  told  you  that  I  was  blind  to  that?  " 
retorted  Potiigin. — "  Only,  pardon  me,  but  your 
remark  reminds  me  of  the  triumphant  way  our 
unhappy  journalists  had  of  pointing,  during  the 
Crimean  campaign,  to  the  defects  of  the  English 
military  administration,  revealed  in  the  Times.  I 
am  not  an  optimist  myself,  and  everything  that 
pertains  to  man,  all  our  life,  that  entire  comedy 
with  a  tragic  ending,  does  not  present  itself  to  me 
in  a  rosy  light ;  but  why  tax  the  Occident,  in  par- 
ticular, with  that  which,  possibly,  has  its  root  in 
our  human  essence  itself?  That  gambling-house 
is  repulsive,  it  is  true ;  well,  but  is  our  home-bred 
knavery,  perchance,  any  the  more  beautiful?  No, 
my  dear  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  let  us  be  more 
humble  and  more  quiet;  a  good  pupil  perceives 
the  errors  of  his  teacher,  but  he  respectfully  holds 

55 


SMOKE 

his  peace  about  them;  for  those  very  errors  are 
of  service  to  him,  and  direct  him  in  the  right  way. 
But  if  you  insist  upon  gossiping  about  the  rotten 
West,  here  comes  Prince  Koko  at  a  jog-trot;  he 
has,  probably,  dropped  at  the  gaming-table  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  the  toil-won,  extorted  quit- 
rents  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  families,  his  nerves 
are  unstrung,  and,  moreover,  I  saw  him  to-day  at 
Marks's,  turning  over  the  pages  of  Veuillot's 
pamphlet.  .  He  '11  be  a  capital  companion  for 
you!" 

"  But  pardon  me,  pardon  me,"  said  Litvinoff 
hastily,  perceiving  that  Potugin  was  rising  from 
his  seat. — "  My  acquaintance  with  Prince  Koko 
is  very  slight,  and  then,  of  course,  I  prefer  con- 
versation with  you.  .  ." 

"  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  you,"  said  Potugin, 
rising  and  bowing  his  farewell; — "but  I  have 
been  conversing  with  you  a  pretty  long  time  as  it 
is— that  is,  strictly  speaking,  I  have  been  doing  all 
the  talking  myself,  while  you,  probably,  have  ob- 
served from  your  own  experience  that  a  man  al- 
ways feels  conscience-stricken  somehow  and  un- 
comfortable when  he  has  been  talking  a  great  deal 
—all  alone.  Especially  so  when  it  happens  at  a 
first  meeting :  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Look  at  me, 
that 's  the  sort  of  man  I  am ! '  Farewell  until  our 
next  pleasant  meeting.  .  .  And  I,  I  repeat  it, 
am  very  glad  at  having  made  your  acquaintance." 

"  But  wait  a  bit,  Sozont  Ivanitch ;  tell  me,  at 
56 


SMOKE 

least,  where  you  are  living,  and  whether  you  in- 
tend to  remain  here  long." 

Potiigin  seemed  to  wince  a  little. 

"  I  shall  remain  about  a  week  longer  in  Baden, 
but  we  can  meet  each  other  here,  or  at  Weber's, 
or  at  Marks's.  Or  I  will  go  to  you." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  must  know  your  address." 

'  Yes.    But  this  is  the  point:  I  am  not  alone." 

'  You  are  married?  "  asked  LitvfnoiF  abruptly. 

"  Good  gracious,  no.  .  .  Why  talk  so  ab- 
surdly? .  .  But  I  have  a  young  girl  with  me." 

"  Ah!  "  ejaculated  Litvmoff,  with  a  shrug,  as 
though  apologising,  and  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  She  is  only  six  years  old,"  went  on  Potiigin. 

"  She  is  an  orphan,  .  .  the  daughter  of  a  lady 
.  .  of  one  of  my  good  friends.  Really,  we  had 
better  meet  here.  Good-bye,  sir." 

He  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  curly  head  and 
walked  rapidly  away,  appearing  for  an  instant 
a  couple  of  times  under  the  gas-jets,  which  cast 
a  rather  scanty  light  upon  the  road  which  led  to 
Lichtenthal  Avenue. 


57 


VI 

"  A  STRANGE  man!"  said  Litvinoff  to  himself,  as 
he  wended  his  way  to  the  hotel  where  he  was  stop- 
ping: "a  strange  man!  I  must  hunt  him  up." 
He  entered  his  room ;  a  letter  on  the  table  caught 
his  eye.  "Ah!  from  Tanya!"  he  thought,  and 
rejoiced  in  advance;  but  the  letter  was  from  his 
father  in  the  country.  Litvinoff  broke  the  large 
heraldic  seal  and  was  about  to  begin  reading.  .  A 
powerful,  very  agreeable,  and  familiar  odour  at- 
tracted his  attention.  He  glanced  about  him,  and 
perceived  on  the  window-sill,,  in  a  glass  of  water, 
a  large  bouquet  of  fresh  heliotropes.  Litvinoff 
bent  over  them,  not  without  surprise,  touched 
them,  smelled  them.  .  .  Some  memory  seemed  to 
recur  to  him,  something  very  remote,  .  .  but  pre- 
cisely what  he  could  not  imagine.  He  rang  for 
a  servant  and  asked  him  whence  the  flowers  had 
come.  The  servant  replied  that  they  had  been 
brought  by  a  lady,  who  would  not  give  her  name, 
but  had  said  that  he,  "  Herr  Zluitenhoff,"  would 
be  sure  to  divine  who  she  was  from  the  flowers 
themselves.  .  .  Again  Litvinoff  caught  a  glimpse 
of  some  memory.  .  .  He  asked  the  servant  what 
was  the  appearance  of  the  lady?  The  servant  ex- 

58 


SMOKE 

plained  that  she  was  tall  and  very  well  dressed, 
but  wore  a  veil  over  her  face. 

"  Probably  a  Russian  Countess,"  he  added. 

'  Why  do  you  assume  that? "  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  She  gave  me  two  gulden,"  replied  the  servant, 
with  a  grin. 

Litvinoff  sent  him  away,  and  for  a  long  time 
thereafter  stood  before  the  window  immersed  in 
thought ;  but  at  last  he  waved  his  hand  in  despair, 
and  again  took  up  the  letter  from  the  country. 
In  it  his  father  poured  forth  his  habitual  com- 
plaints, asserted  that  no  one  would  take  the  grain 
even  as  a  gift,  that  the  people  had  grown  utterly 
unruly,  and  that,  in  all  probability,  the  end  of  the 
world  was  at  hand.  "  Just  imagine,"  he  wrote, 
by  the  way,  "  my  last  coachman,  that  little  Kal- 
myk, you  remember?  has  been  bewitched,  and  the 
man  would  infallibly  have  perished  and  there 
would  have  been  no  one  to  drive  me,  but,  luckily, 
some  kind  people  gave  me  a  hint  and  advised  me 
to  send  the  sick  man  off  to  Ryazan,  to  a  priest  who 
is  a  well-known  expert  in  dealing  with  spells ;  and 
the  treatment  actually  succeeded  to  perfection,  in 
confirmation  whereof  I  enclose  the  letter  of  the 
father  himself,  by  way  of  document."  Litvinoff 
ran  his  eye  over  this  "  document  "  with  curiosity. 
It  contained  the  statement  that  "  the  house- 
servant,  Nikanor  Dmitrieff ,  was  afflicted  with  a 
malady  which  medical  science  could  not  reach; 

59 


SMOKE 

and  this  malady  was  caused  by  malevolent  per- 
sons ;  but  the  cause  of  it  was  Nikanor  himself,  for 
he  had  not  fulfilled  his  promise  to  a  certain 
maiden,  hence  she,  through  these  persons,  had  ren- 
dered him  unfit  for  anything,  and  if  I  had  not 
been  his  helper,  under  these  circumstances  he  must 
have  perished  utterly,  like  a  cabbage-worm ;  but  I, 
trusting  in  the  All-seeing  Eye,  constituted  my- 
self his  prop  in  life ;  and  how  I  accomplished  this 
is  a  secret;  and  I  request  Your  Weil-Born  that 
henceforth  that  maiden  may  not  occupy  herself 
with  those  evil  attributes,  and  it  would  even  do  no 
harm  to  threaten  her,  otherwise  she  may  exercise 
a  maleficent  influence  over  him  again."  Litvinoff 
fell  into  thought  over  this  document;  it  exhaled 
upon  him  a  breath  of  the  wilds  of  the  steppe,  the 
impassive  gloom  of  stagnating  life,  and  it  seemed 
marvellous  to  him  that  he  should  have  read  that 
letter  precisely  in  Baden.  In  the  meantime,  mid- 
night had  long  since  struck;  Litvinoff  went  to 
bed  and  blew  out  his  candle.  But  he  could  not 
get  to  sleep;  the  faces  he  had  seen,  the  speeches 
he  had  heard,  kept  whirling  and  circling, 
strangely  interweaving  and  mixing  themselves  in 
his  burning  head,  which  was  aching  with  the 
tobacco-smoke.  Now  he  seemed  to  hear  Gu- 
baryoff's  bellow,  and  his  downcast  eyes,  with 
their  stupid,  obstinate  gaze,  presented  them- 
selves; then,  all  of  a  sudden,  those  same  eyes 
began  to  blaze  and  leap,  and  he  recognised 

GO 


SMOKE 

Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  heard  her  sharp  voice, 
and,  involuntarily,  in  a  whisper,  repeated  after 
her:  "She  did  slap  his  face,  she  did!"  then 
the  shambling  figure  of  Potiigin  moved  for- 
ward before  him,  and  for  the  tenth,  the  twentieth 
time,  he  recalled  his  every  word ;  then,  like  a  pup- 
pet from  a  snuff-box,  Voroshfloff  sprang  for- 
ward in  his  brand-new  paletot,  which  fitted  him 
like  a  new  uniform,  and  Pishtchalkin  wisely  and 
gravely  nodded  his  capitally -barbered  and  really 
well-intentioned  head ;  and  Bindasoff  bawled  and 
reviled,  and  Bambaeff  went  into  tearful  raptures. 
.  .  .  But  the  chief  thing  was :  that  perfume,  that 
importunate,  insistent,  sweet,  heavy  perfume, 
gave  him  no  rest,  and  was  exhaled  with  ever- 
increasing  power  in  the  darkness,  and  ever  more 
persistently  reminded  him  of  something  which  he 
vainly  endeavoured  to  grasp.  .  .  It  occurred  to 
Litvmoff  that  the  odour  of  flowers  was  injurious 
to  the  health  at  night  in  a  bed-chamber,  and  he 
rose,  felt  his  way  to  the  bouquet,  and  carried  it 
out  into  the  adjoining  room;  but  the  insufferable 
fragrance  penetrated  to  his  pillow,  under  his  cov- 
erlet, even  from  that  point,  and  he  tossed  sadly 
from  side  to  side.  Fever  was  beginning  to  lay 
hold  upon  him;  the  priest,  "the  expert  in  deal- 
ing with  spells,"  had  already  twice  run  across 
his  path  in  the  shape  of  a  very  nimble  hare  with 
a  beard,  and  Voroshfloff,  squatting  in  a  Gen- 
eral's plume,  as  in  a  bush,  was  beginning  to  trill 

61 


SMOKE 

like  a  nightingale  before  him  .  .  .  when,  all 
of  a  sudden,  he  sat  up  in  bed,  and  clasping  his 
hands,  exclaimed:  "  Is  it  possible  that  it  is  she? 
It  cannot  be !  " 

But  in  order  to  explain  this  exclamation  of  Lit- 
vinoff,  we  must  ask  the  indulgent  reader  to  go 
back  several  years  with  us. 


62 


VII 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  '50's  there  resided  in 
Moscow,  in  very  straitened  circumstances,  almost 
in  poverty,  the  numerous  family  of  the  Princes 
Osinin.  They  were  genuine,  not  Tatar-Geor- 
gian, but  pure-blooded  princes,  descendants  of 
Rurik;  their  name  is  frequently  met  with  in  our 
Chronicles  under  the  first  Grand  Princes  of  Mos- 
cow, the  collectors  of  the  Russian  land ;  they  pos- 
sessed extensive  patrimonial  estates  and  domains, 
had  been  repeatedly  rewarded  for  "  toils,  and 
blood,  and  wounds,"  had  sat  in  the  Council  of  the 
boyars;  one  of  them  even  wrote  his  name  with 
"  vitch  "  ; 1  but  had  fallen  into  disgrace  through 
the  conspiracy  of  enemies  for  "  witchcraft  and 
knowledge  of  roots  " ;  they  were  ruined  "  terribly 
and  completely" ;  they  were  deprived  of  their  hon- 
ours, and  banished  to  parts  remote;  the  Osinins 
crumbled  away,  and  never  recovered  themselves, 
never  again  attained  to  power ;  the  decree  of  ban- 
ishment was  removed  from  them,  in  course  of 
time,  and  their  "  Moscow  homestead  "  and  their 
"  chattels  "  were  even  restored  to  them,  but  noth- 
ing was  of  any  avail.  Their  race  had  become  im- 

l  Formerly  a  sign  of  blood-royal. — TRANSLATOR. 

03 


poverished,  had  "  withered  away  "—it  did  not  rise 
either  under  Peter  or  under  Katherine,  and  be- 
coming constantly  more  insignificant  and  re- 
duced, it  counted  among  its  members  private 
stewards,  managers  of  liquor  counting-houses, 
and  police-captains.  The  family  of  the  Osinins 
to  which  we  have  alluded  consisted  of  husband, 
wife  and  five  children.  They  lived  near  the  Dogs' 
Square,  in  a  tiny,  one-story  wooden  house,  with  a 
striped  principal  porch  opening  on  the  street, 
green  lions  on  the  gates,  and  other  devices  apper- 
taining to  the  nobility,  and  barely  made  the  two 
ends  meet,  running  into  debt  at  the  greengrocer's 
shop,  and  frequently  going  without  fuel  and 
lights  in  winter.  The  Prince  himself  was  an  in- 
dolent, rather  stupid  man,  who  had,  once  upon  a 
time,  been  a  handsome  man  and  a  dandy,  but  had 
utterly  gone  to  pieces ;  not  so  much  out  of  respect 
for  his  name,  as  out  of  courtesy  to  his  wife,  who 
had  been  a  Maid  of  Honour  at  Court,  he  had 
been  given  one  of  the  ancient  Moscow  posts  with 
a  small  salary,  a  difficult  title,  and  no  work  what- 
ever; he  never  meddled  with  anything,  and  did 
nothing  but  smoke  from  morning  till  night,  never 
abandoning  his  dressing-gown,  and  sighing  heav- 
ily. His  wife  was  a  sickly  and  peevish  woman, 
perpetually  worried  over  domestic  troubles,  with 
getting  her  children  placed  in  government  insti- 
tutions for  education,  and  with  keeping  up  her 
connections  in  St.  Petersburg;  she  never  could 

64 


SMOKE 

get  reconciled  to  her  position  and  expatriation 
from  the  Court. 

LitvinofF's  father,  during  his  sojourn  in  Mos- 
cow, had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  Osinins, 
had  had  an  opportunity  to  render  them  several 
services,  had  once  lent  them  three  hundred  rubles ; 
and  his  son,  in  his  student  days,  had  frequently 
called  to  inquire  after  their  health,  as  his  lodgings 
chanced  to  be  situated  not  very  far  from  their 
house.  But  it  was  not  the  close  vicinity  which  at- 
tracted him,  neither  did  the  wretched  comforts  of 
their  mode  of  life  allure  him:  he  began  to  visit 
the  Osinins  frequently  from  the  moment  when  he 
fell  in  love  with  their  eldest  daughter,  Irina. 

At  that  time  she  had  just  passed  her  seven- 
teenth birthday;  she  had  just  left  the  Institute, 
from  which  her  mother  had  taken  her,  on  account 
of  a  quarrel  with  the  directress.  The  quarrel  had 
arisen  from  the  circumstance  that  Irina  was  to 
have  delivered  the  verses  of  greeting  to  the  Cura- 
tor at  the  commencement  in  the  French  language, 
and  just  before  the  ceremony  another  girl,  the 
daughter  of  a  very  wealthy  government  monopo- 
list, had  been  substituted  for  her.  The  Princess- 
mother  could  not  digest  this  affront;  and  Irina 
herself  could  not  forgive  the  directress  for  her 
injustice;  she  had  been  dreaming  in  advance  how, 
in  the  sight  of  every  one,  attracting  universal  at- 
tention, she  would  declaim  her  speech,  and  how 
Moscow  would  talk  about  her  afterward.  .  .  And, 

65 


SMOKE 

in  fact,  Moscow  probably  would  have  talked  about 
Irina.  She  was  a  tall,  slender  girl,  with  a  some- 
what sunken  chest  and  narrow,  youthful  shoul- 
ders, with  a  palely-opaque  skin  rare  at  her  age,  as 
pure  and  smooth  as  porcelain,  and  thick,  blond 
hair,  wherein  dark  locks  were  intermingled  with 
the  blond  ones  in  an  original  manner.  Her  fea- 
tures, elegantly,  almost  exquisitely  regular,  had 
not  yet  lost  that  innocent  expression  which  is  pe- 
culiar to  early  youth ;  but  in  the  slow  inclinations 
of  her  beautiful  neck,  in  her  smile,  which,  not  ex- 
actly abstracted,  nor  yet  exactly  languid,  denoted 
the  nervous  young  gentlewoman,  and  in  the  very 
outline  of  those  thin,  barely  smiling  lips,  of  that 
small,  aquiline,  somewhat  compressed  nose,  there 
was  something  wilful  and  passionate,  something 
dangerous  both  for  others  and  /for  herself.  Her 
eyes  were  astounding,  truly  astounding,  of  a 
blackish-grey,  with  green  lights,  languishing, 
long  as  those  of  Egyptian  divinities,  with  radiant 
eyelashes,  and  a  bold  sweep  of  eyebrows.  There 
was  a  strange  expression  in  those  eyes:  they 
seemed  to  be  gazing,  gazing  attentively  and 
thoughtfully,  from  out  of  some  unknown  depths 
and  distance.  In  the  Institute  Irina  had  borne  the 
reputation  of  being  one  of  the  best  scholars  as  to 
mind  and  capacities,  but  with  an  unstable,  am- 
bitious character,  and  a  mischievous  head ;  one  of 
the  teachers  had  predicted  to  her  that  her  passions 
would  ruin  her— "Vos  passions  vous  perdront "  ; 

06 


SMOKE 

on  the  other  hand,  another  teacher  had  persecuted 
her  because  of  her  coldness  and  lack  of  feeling, 
and  called  her  "  une  jeune  fille  sans  coeur." 
Irina's  companions  thought  her  proud  and  deceit- 
ful, her  brothers  and  sisters  were  afraid  of  her,  her 
mother  did  not  trust  her,  and  her  father  felt  un- 
easy when  she  fixed  her  mysterious  eyes  upon  him ; 
but  she  inspired  both  father  and  mother  with  a 
sentiment  of  involuntary  respect,  not  by  virtue  of 
her  qualities,  but  by  virtue  of  the  peculiar,  indis- 
tinct expectations  which  she  aroused  in  them,  God 
knows  why. 

'  You  will  see,  Praskovya  Danilovna,"  said 
the  old  Prince  one  day,  taking  his  pipe-stem  out 
of  his  mouth: — "  Arinka  will  extricate  us  from 
our  difficulties  yet." 

The  Princess  flew  into  a  rage,  and  told  her  hus- 
band that  he  used  " expressions  insupportable*" 
but  thought  better  of  it  afterward,  and  repeated, 
between  her  teeth:  "  Yes  .  .  .  and  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  if  she  did  extricate  us." 

Irfna  enjoyed  almost  unbounded  freedom  in 
the  parental  abode ;  they  did  not  pet  her,  they  even 
held  rather  aloof  from  her,  but  they  did  not  op- 
pose her:  that  was  all  she  wanted.  ...  It  some- 
times happened  when  there  was  some  quite  too 
humiliating  scene— when  a  shopkeeper  would 
come  and  yell,  so  that  the  whole  house  could  hear 
him,  that  he  was  tired  of  haunting  them  for  his 
money,  or  when  their  servants,  whom  they  owned, 

67 


SMOKE 

took  to  abusing  their  masters  to  their  face,  say- 
ing, "  A  pretty  sort  of  princes  you  are,  with  not 
a  copper  in  your  purse  to  keep  from  starving  " 
that  Irina  would  never  move  a  muscle,  but  would 
sit  motionless,  with  a  malign  smile  on  her  gloomy 
face ;  and  that  smile  alone  was  more  bitter  to  her 
parents  than  all  reproaches,  and  they  felt  them- 
selves guilty,  innocently  guilty,  in  the  presence  of 
that  being,  who  seemed,  from  her  very  birth,  to 
have  been  endowed  with  the  right  to  wealth,  to 
luxury,  to  adoration. 

Litvinoff  fell  in  love  with  Irina  as  soon  as  he 
saw  her  (he  was  only  three  years  older  than  she) , 
but  for  a  long  time  he  could  not  win  reciprocity 
or  even  attention.  Upon  her  treatment  of  him 
there  lay  the  imprint  even  of  a  certain  hostility; 
it  was  exactly  as  though  hejhad  offended  her  and 
she  were  profoundly  concealing  the  offence,  but 
were  unable  to  forgive  him.  He  was  too  young 
and  modest  at  that  time  to  understand  what  might 
be  concealed  beneath  this  hostile,  almost  scornful 
harshness.  There  were  times  when,  oblivious  of 
lectures  and  note-books,  he  would  sit  in  the  Osi- 
nins'  cheerless  drawing-room, — sit  and  stare  cov- 
ertly at  Irina :  his  heart  pined  slowly  and  bitterly 
away  within  him  and  oppressed  his  breast;  but 
she,  as  though  she  were  angry  or  bored,  would 
rise,  pace  up  and  down  the  room,  gaze  coldly  at 
him,  as  at  a  table  or  a  chair,  shrug  her  shoulders, 
and  fold  her  arms ;  or,  during  the  whole  course  of 

68 


SMOKE 

the  evening,  she  would  deliberately  refrain  from 
glancing  at  Litvinoff  a  single  time,  even  when 
talking  with  him,  as  though  refusing  him  even 
that  alms ;  or,  in  conclusion,  she  would  take  up  a 
book  and  rivet  her  eyes  upon  it,  without  reading, 
frown  and  bite  her  lips,  or  would  suddenly  inquire 
of  her  father  or  brother:  what  was  the  German 
word  for  patience? 

He  tried  to  tear  himself  away  from  the 
enchanted  circle,  in  which  he  incessantly  suf- 
fered torment  and  struggled,  like  a  bird  which 
has  fallen  into  a  trap;  he  absented  himself  from 
Moscow  for  a  week.  After  nearly  losing  his  mind 
with  grief  and  irksomeness,  he  returned  to  the 
Osmins,  all  haggard  and  ill.  .  .  And,  strange  to 
say,  Irina  also  had  grown  emaciated  during  those 
days,  her  face  had  turned  yellow,  her  cheeks  were 
sunken;  .  .  .  but  she  greeted  him  with  greater 
coldness  than  ever,  with  almost  malevolent  scorn, 
as  though  he  had  still  further  aggravated  that 
mysterious  grievance  which  he  had  dealt  her.  .  . 

She  tortured  him  in  this  manner  for  two 
months;  then  one  day  everything  underwent  a 
change.  It  was  as  though  she  had  broken  out  in 
conflagration,  as  though  love  had  swooped  down 
upon  her  like  a  thunder-cloud.  One  day— he  long 
remembered  that  day— he  was  again  sitting  in  the 
Osmins'  drawing-room,  at  the  window,  and  irrele- 
vantly staring  into  the  street,  and  he  was  feeling 
vexed  and  bored  and  despised  himself,  and  yet  he 

69 


SMOKE 

could  not  stir  from  the  spot. . .  It  seemed  to  him  as 
though,  if  a  river  were  flowing  just  there,  beneath 
the  window,  he  would  hurl  her  into  it  with  terror, 
but  without  compunction.  Irina  had  placed  her- 
self not  far  from  him,  maintained  a  rather  singu- 
lar silence,  and  remained  motionless.  For  several 
days  past  she  had  not  spoken  to  him  at  all,  and 
indeed  she  had  not  spoken  to  any  one ;  she  sat  on 
and  on,  propped  up  on  her  arms,  as  though  she 
found  herself  perplexed,  and  only  from  time  to 
time  did  she  cast  a  slow  glance  around  her. 

This  cold  torment  became,  at  last,  more  than 
Litvinoff  could  endure ;  he  rose,  and,  without  tak- 
ing leave,  began  to  look  for  his  hat.  '  Wait,"  a 
soft  whisper  suddenly  made  itself  heard.  Lit- 
vinoff's  heart  quivered ;  he  did  not  at  once  recog- 
nise Irina's  voice:  something  unprecedented  re- 
sounded in  that  single  word.  He  raised  his  head 
and  stood  petrified:  Irina  was  gazing  at  him 
affectionately — yes,  affectionately.  Compre- 
hending nothing,  not  fully  conscious  of  what 
he  was  doing,  he  approached  her  and  stretched 
out  his  hands.  .  .  She  immediately  gave  him 
both  of  hers,  then  smiled,  flushed  all  over, 
turned  away,  and  without  ceasing  to  smile,  she 
left  the  room.  ...  A  few  minutes  later  she 
returned  in  company  with  her  younger  sister, 
again  looked  at  him  with  the  same  gentle  glance, 
and  made  him  sit  down  beside  her.  .  .  At  first 
she  could  say  nothing:  she  merely  sighed  and 

70 


SMOKE 

blushed ;  then  she  began,  as  though  overcome  with 
timidity,  to  question  him  concerning  his  occupa- 
tions, something  which  she  had  never  done  before. 
On  the  evening  of  that  same  day  she  several  times 
endeavoured  to  excuse  herself  to  him  for  not  hav- 
ing known  how  to  appreciate  him  up  to  that  mo- 
ment, assured  him  that  she  had  now  become  an 
entirely  different  person,  amazed  him  by  an  un- 
expected republican  sally  (at  that  time  he  wor- 
shipped Robespierre,  and  dared  not  condemn 
Marat  aloud),  but  a  week  later  he  had  already 
discovered  that  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him. 
Yes;  he  long  remembered  that  first  day;  .  .  .  but 
he  did  not  forget  the  following  ones,  either,— 
those  days  when,  still  striving  to  doubt,  and 
afraid  to  believe,  he  clearly  perceived,  with 
tremors  of  rapture,  almost  of  terror,  how  this 
unexpected  happiness  was  engendered,  grew  and, 
irresistibly  sweeping  everything  before  it,  at  last 
fairly  submerged  him. 

The  luminous  moments  of  first  love  ensued— 
moments  which  are  not  fated  to  be,  and  should 
not  be,  repeated  in  one  and  the  same  life.  Irina 
suddenly  became  as  tame  as  a  lamb,  as  soft  as  silk, 
and  infinitely  kind ;  she  undertook  to  give  lessons 
to  her  younger  sisters,— not  on  the  piano,— she 
was  not  a  musician,— but  in  the  French  and 
English  languages ;  she  read  with  them  from  their 
text-books,  she  took  part  in  the  housekeeping; 
everything  amused  her,  everything  interested  her ; 

71 


SMOKE 

now  she  chattered  incessantly,  again  she  became 
immersed  in  dumb  emotion ;  she  concocted  various 
plans,  she  entered  into  interminable  speculations 
as  to  what  she  would  do  when  she  married  Litvi- 
noff  (they  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  their 
marriage  would  take  place) ,  what  they  would  do 
together.  .  .  "  Work? "  suggested  Litvinoff.  . 
'  Yes,  work,"  repeated  Irina:  "  read  .  .  .  but, 
principally,  travel."  She  was  particularly  desir- 
ous of  quitting  Moscow  as  speedily  as  possible, 
and  when  Litvinoff  represented  to  her  that  he  had 
not  yet  completed  his  course  in  the  university, 
on  each  such  occasion,  after  meditating  a  little, 
she  replied  that  he  might  finish  his  studies  in  Ber- 
lin, or  ...  somewhere  there.  Irina  put  little 
constraint  upon  herself  in  the  expression  of  her 
feelings,  and,  therefore,  her  affection  for  Litvi- 
noff did  not  long  remain  a  secret  to  the  Prince 
and  Princess.  They  were  not  precisely  delighted, 
but,  taking  all  the  circumstances  into  considera- 
tion, they  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  impose 
their  veto  immediately.  Litvinoff 's  property  was 

considerable "  But  family,  family! . . ." 

remarked  the  Princess.  '  Well,  of  course,  fam- 
ily," replied  the  Prince ;  "  but,  at  all  events,  he  's 
not  a  plebeian,  and  that 's  the  chief  thing ;  for 
Irina  will  not  listen  to  us.  Was  there  ever  a  case 
when  she  did  not  do  as  she  pleased?  Vous  con- 
naissez  sa  violence!  Moreover,  there  's  nothing 
definite  as  yet."  Thus  reasoned  the  Prince,  and 

72 


SMOKE 

yet,  on  the  instant,  added  mentally:  "Madame 
Litvinoff— nothing  more?  I  expected  something 
else." 

Irina  took  complete  possession  of  her  future 
betrothed,  and  he  himself  willingly  gave  him- 
self into  her  hands.  He  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  a  whirlpool,  to  have  lost  himself.  .  .  And  he 
found  it  painful  and  sweet,  and  he  regretted  noth- 
ing and  kept  back  nothing.  He  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  reflect  upon  the  significance,  the 
duties  of  wedlock,  or  whether  he,  so  irrevocably 
submissive,  would  make  a  good  husband,  and  what 
sort  of  a  wife  Irina  would  turn  out  to  be ;  his  blood 
was  on  fire  and  he  knew  one  thing  only:  to  go 
after  her,  with  her,  onward  and  without  end,  and 
then  let  that  happen  which  might!  But,  despite 
the  absence  of  all  opposition  on  the  part  of  Litvi- 
noff  to  the  superabundance  of  impulsive  tender- 
ness on  the  part  of  Irina,  matters  did  not  progress 
without  several  misunderstandings  and  clashes. 
One  day  he  ran  in  to  see  her  straight  from  the 
university,  in  his  old  coat,  with  his  hands  stained 
with  ink.  She  rushed  to  meet  him  with  her  cus- 
tomary affectionate  greeting,  and  suddenly  came 
to  a  halt: 

"  You  have  no  gloves,"  she  said  slowly,  with 
pauses,  and  instantly  added : — "Fie!  what  a  .  .  . 
student  .  .  .  you  are! " 

"  You  are  too  impressionable,  Irina,"  remarked 
Litvmoff. 

78 


SMOKE 

'  You  are  .  .  a  regular  student,"  she  repeated: 
— "  Vous  n  etes  pas  distingue." 

And  turning  her  back  on  him,  she  left  the  room. 
It  is  true  that,  an  hour  later,  she  entreated  him  to 
forgive  her.  .  .  On  the  whole,  she  willingly  pun- 
ished herself  and  asked  his  pardon ;  only,  strange 
to  say,  she  often,  almost  with  tears,  accused  her- 
self of  bad  motives  which  she  did  not  have,  and 
obstinately  denied  her  real  defects.  On  another 
occasion  he  found  her  in  tears,  with  her  head  rest- 
ing on  her  hands,  and  her  hair  falling  unbound; 
and  when,  thoroughly  disquieted,  he  questioned 
her  as  to  the  cause  of  her  grief,  she  silently  pointed 
her  finger  at  her  breast.  Litvinoff  involuntarily 
shuddered.  "  Consumption !  "  flashed  through  his 
mind,  and  he  seized  her  hand. 

"  Art  thou  ill?  "  he  ejaculated  with  a  quivering 
voice  (they  had  already  begun,  in  important  cases, 
to  call  each  other  "  thou  ") .— "  If  so,  I  will  go  at 
once  for  the  doctor  ..." 

But  Irina  did  not  allow  him  to  finish,  *nd 
stamped  her  little  foot  with  impatience. 

"  I  am  perfectly  well  .  .  but  it  is  this  gown 
.  .  .  don't  you  understand?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  .  .  this  gown  .  .  ."he 
ejaculated  in  surprise. 

'  What  do  I  mean?  Why,  that  I  have  no 
other,  and  that  it  is  old,  horrid,  and  that  I 
am  compelled  to  put  on  this  gown  every  day  .  . 
even  when  thou  .  .  even  when  you  come.  .  It 

74 


SMOKE 

will  end  in  thy  ceasing  to  love  me,  if  thou  seest 
me  so  slovenly." 

"  Good  heavens,  Irina,  what  art  thou  saying? 
Why,  this  gown  is  very  pretty.  .  .  And  it  is  dear 
to  me,  moreover,  because  I  saw  thee  in  it  for  the 
first  time." 

Irina  blushed. 

"  Please  do  not  remind  me,  Grigory  Mikha- 
ilovitch,  that  even  then  I  had  no  other  gown." 

"But  I  assure  you,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it  is 
charmingly  becoming  to  you." 

"  No,  it 's  horrid,  horrid,"  she  repeated,  tug- 
ging nervously  at  her  long,  soft  curls. — "  Okh, 
this  poverty,  poverty,  obscurity!  How  can  I  rid 
myself  of  this  poverty?  How  get  out,  get  out  of 
the  obscurity? " 

Litvinoff  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and 
slightly  turned  away. 

Suddenly  Irina  sprang  up  from  her  chair  and 
laid  both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  But,  surely,  thou  lovest  me?  Thou  lovest 
me? "  she  cried,  approaching  her  face  to  his,  and 
her  eyes,  still  filled  with  tears,  beamed  with  the 
joy  of  happiness.—"  Thou  lovest  me  even  in  this 
horrid  gown?  " 

Litvinoff  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"  Akh,  love  me,  love  me,  my  dear  one,  my 
saviour,"  she  whispered,  bending  down  to  him. 

Thus  the  days  rushed  on,  the  weeks  elapsed,  and 
although  no  formal  explanation  had  as  yet  taken 


SMOKE 

place,  although  LitvinoiF  still  delayed  his  de- 
mand, not,  of  course,  by  his  own  wish,  but  in 
expectation  of  a  command  from  Irina  (she  had 
happened  one  day  to  remark,  "  We  are  both  ridic- 
ulously young;  we  must  add  a  few  weeks  more 
to  our  age  ") ,  yet  everything  was  moving  onward 
to  a  conclusion,  and  the  immediate  future  was  be- 
coming more  and  more  clearly  defined,  when  sud- 
denly an  event  occurred  which  scattered  all  these 
surmises  and  plans  like  the  light  dust  of  the  high- 
way. 


VIII 

THAT  winter  the  Court  visited  Moscow.  One  fes- 
tival followed  another;  then  came  the  turn  of  the 
customary  great  ball  in  the  Assembly  of  the  No- 
bility. The  news  of  this  ball,  it  is  true,  penetrated 
even  to  the  tiny  house  on  the  Dogs'  Square,  in  the 
shape  of  an  announcement  in  the  Police  News. 
The  Prince  was  the  first  to  take  the  initiative ;  he 
immediately  decided  that  it  was  indispensable 
that  they  should  go  and  take  Irina,  that  it  was 
unpardonable  to  miss  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
their  sovereigns,  that  the  ancient  nobility  were, 
in  a  manner,  bound  to  do  so.  He  insisted  on  his 
opinion  with  a  peculiar  warmth,  which  was  not 
characteristic  of  him;  the  Princess  agreed  with 
him  to  a  certain  extent,  and  only  sighed  over  the 
expense;  but  Irina  displayed  decided  opposition. 
"  It  is  unnecessary;  I  will  not  go,"  she  replied  to 
all  the  arguments  of  her  parents.  Her  obstinacy 
assumed  such  proportions  that  the  old  Prince  at 
last  decided  to  ask  Litvinoff  to  try  to  persuade 
her  by  representing  to  her,  among  the  other  "  rea- 
sons," that  it  was  improper  for  a  young  girl  to 
avoid  society,  that  it  was  proper  for  her  "  to  test 
that,"  that,  as  it  was,  no  one  ever  saw  her  any- 

77 


SMOKE 

where.  Litvinoff  undertook  to  present  these 
"  reasons  "  to  her.  Irina  gazed  at  him  so  in- 
tently and  attentively  that  he  grew  confused,  and 
toying  with  the  ends  of  her  sash,  she  calmly 
said: 

'  You  desire  this?— you?  " 

"  Yes  ...  I  think  I  do,"  replied  Litvinoff 
faltering. — "  I  agree  with  your  father.  .  .  And 
why  should  not  you  go  ...  to  look  at  the  people 
and  to  show  yourself? "  he  added,  with  a  curt 
laugh. 

'  To   show  myself,"   she   slowly  repeated.— 
'  Well,  very  good,  I  will  go.  .  .  Only,  remember, 
it  is  you  yourself  who  have  willed  it.  ." 

"  That  is  to  say,  I  .  .  ."  Litvinoff  tried  to 
begin. 

"  It  is  you  yourself  who  have  willed  it,"  she  in- 
terrupted.— "And  there  is  one  more  condition: 
you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  not  be  present 
at  that  ball." 

"But  why?" 

"  I  wish  it." 

Litvinoff  flung  his  hands  apart. 

"  I  submit;  .  .  but,  I  must  confess,  I  should  be 
very  happy  to  see  you  in  all  your  majesty,  to  be 
a  witness  of  the  impression  which  you  will  infal- 
libly produce.  .  How  proud  I  should  be  of  you !" 
he  added,  with  a  sigh. 

Irina  laughed. 

"  All  that  magnificence  will  consist  of  a  white 
78 


SMOKE 

frock;  and  as  for  the  impression  .  .  .  well,  in 
short,  I  will  have  it  so." 

"  Irina,  you  seem  to  be  angry? " 

Irina  laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  no!  I  am  not  angry.  Only  thou  .  .  ." 
( She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  it  struck  him 
that  never  before  had  he  beheld  in  them  such  an 
expression.)  "  Perhaps  it  is  necessary,"  she 
added  in  a  low  voice. 

"But,  Irina,  thou  lovest  me?" 
'  Yes,  I  love  thee,"  she  replied,  with  almost 
solemn  impressiveness,  and  shook  his  hand  in  mas- 
culine fashion. 

During  all  the  succeeding  days  Irina  sedu- 
lously occupied  herself  with  her  toilet,  with  her 
coiffure;  on  the  eve  of  the  ball  she  felt  indis- 
posed, could  not  sit  still  in  one  place,  fell  to  weep- 
ing a  couple  of  times  when  she  was  alone :  in  Lit- 
vinoff's  presence  she  smiled  in  a  monotonous  sort 
of  way  .  .  .  but  treated  him  tenderly,  as  before, 
yet  in  an  abstracted  manner,  and  kept  incessantly 
contemplating  herself  in  the  mirror.  On  the  day 
of  the  ball  she  was  extremely  taciturn  and  pale, 
but  composed.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening 
Litvinoff  came  to  take  a  look  at  her.  When  she 
came  out  to  him  in  her  white  tarlatan  frock,  with 
a  spray  of  small  blue  flowers  in  her  hair,  which 
was  dressed  rather  high,  he  simply  cried  out  in 
admiration :  she  seemed  to  him  beautiful  and  ma- 
jestic  beyond  her  years.  '  Yes,  she  has  grown 

79 


SMOKE 

taller  since  morning,"  he  said  to  himself;  "and 
what  a  carriage!  What  a  thing  good  blood  is!  " 
Irina  stood  before  him  with  pendent  arms,  with- 
out smile  or  affectation,  and  gazed  with  decision, 
almost  with  boldness,  not  at  him,  but  at  some  point 
in  the  distance,  straight  in  front  of  her. 

"  You  are  like  a  fairy  princess,"  uttered  Litvi- 
noff  at  last;—"  or,  no:  you  are  like  the  leader  of 
an  army  before  a  victory.  .  .  You  have  not  per- 
mitted me  to  go  to  this  ball," — he  continued,  while 
she  remained  motionless,  as  before,  and  seemed 
not  so  much  to  be  listening  to  him  as  to  some  other 
inward  speech;—"  but  you  will  not  refuse  to  ac- 
cept from  me  these  flowers,  and  to  carry  them?  " 

He  gave  her  a  bouquet  of  heliotropes. 

She  cast  a  quick  glance  at  LitvinofF,  stretched 
out  her  hand,  and  suddenly  grasping  the  tips  of 
the  spray  which  adorned  her  head,  she  said: 

"  Do  you  wish  it?  Only  say  the  word,  and  I 
will  tear  off  all  this  and  remain  at  home." 

Litvinoff's  heart  fairly  sang  with  joy.  Irma's 
hand  was  already  wrenching  off  the  spray.  .  . 

"  No,  no,  why  should  you?  "  he  said  hastily,  in 
a  burst  of  grateful  and  noble  sentiments ;—  "  I  am 
not  an  egoist;  why  should  I  restrict  your  liberty 
.  .  when  I  know  that  your  heart  ..." 

'  Well,  then,  don't  come  near  me;  you  will 
crush  my  gown,"  she  said  hastily. 

LitvinofF  was  disconcerted. 

"  And  you  will  take  the  bouquet?  "  he  asked. 
80 


SMOKE 

"Of  course;  it  is  very  pretty,  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  that  perfume.  .  Merci.  .  I  will  preserve 
it  as  a  souvenir." 

"  Of  your  first  appearance  in  society,"  re- 
marked Litvinoff: — "  of  your  first  triumph.  .  ." 

Irina  contemplated  herself  in  the  mirror  over 
her  shoulder,  bending  her  body  a  little. 

"  And  am  I  really  so  pretty?  Are  not  you  a 
partial  judge? " 

Litvinoff  grew  diffuse  in  enthusiastic  praises. 
But  Irina  was  no  longer  listening  to  him,  and 
lifting  the  bouquet  to  her  face,  she  again  began 
to  gaze  off  into  the  distance  with  her  strange 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  darken  and  widen,  and  the 
ends  of  the  delicate  ribbons,  set  in  motion  by  a 
light  current  of  air,  elevated  themselves  on  her 
shoulders  like  wings. 

The  Prince  made  his  appearance  with  hair 
curled,  in  a  white  necktie,  a  shabby  black  dress 
suit,  and  with  the  Vladimir  ribbon  of  the  order  of 
the  nobility  in  his  buttonhole;  after  him  the  Prin- 
cess appeared  in  a  chine  silk  gown  of  antique  cut, 
and  with  that  grim  anxiety  beneath  which  mo- 
thers strive  to  conceal  their  agitation  put  her 
daughter  to  rights  from  behind— that  is  to  say, 
she  shook  out  the  folds  of  her  gown  without 
any  necessity  whatever.  An  old-fashioned,  four- 
seated  hired  carriage,  drawn  by  two  shaggy  nags, 
crawled  up  to  the  entrance,  its  wheels  creaking 
over  the  mounds  of  snow  which  had  not  been 

81 


SMOKE 

swept  away,  and  an  infirm  footman  in  a  prepos- 
terous livery  ran  in  from  the  anteroom  and  rather 
desperately  announced  that  the  carriage  was 
ready.  .  .  After  bestowing  their  blessing  for  the 
night  upon  the  remaining  children,  and  donning 
fur  wraps,  the  Prince  and  Princess  directed  their 
steps  to  the  porch ;  Irina,  in  a  thin,  short-sleeved 
cloak— how  she  did  hate  that  cloak!— followed 
them  in  silence.  Litvinoff  escorted  them,  in  the 
hope  of  receiving  a  parting  glance  from  Irina, 
but  she  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage  without  turn- 
ing her  head. 

About  midnight  he  passed  under  the  windows 
of  the  Assembly.  The  innumerable  lights  in  the 
huge  chandeliers  pierced  through  the  crimson  cur- 
tains in  luminous  spots,  and  the  sounds  of  a 
Strauss  waltz  were  being  wafted,  with  a  haughty, 
festive  challenge,  all  over  the  square  encumbered 
with  equipages. 

On  the  following  day,  at  noon,  Litvinoff  betook 
himself  to  the  Osinins.  He  found  no  one  at  home 
but  the  Prince,  who  immediately  announced  to 
him  that  Irina  had  a  headache,  that  she  was  in 
bed,  and  would  not  rise  until  the  evening,  and 
that,  moreover,  such  an  indisposition  was  not  in 
the  least  surprising  after  a  first  ball. 

"  C'est  ires  naturel,  vous  savez,  dans  les  jeunes 
files"  he  added  in  French,  which  somewhat 
amazed  Litvinoff,  who  noticed,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, that  the  Prince  was  not  wearing  his  dress- 

82 


SMOKE 

ing-gown  as  usual,  but  a  frock-coat.—"  And, 
moreover,"  went  on  Osinin,  "  how  could  she  help 
falling  ill  after  the  events  of  last  night?  " 
"  The  events?  "  blurted  out  Litvinoff. 
'  Yes,  yes,  the  events,  the  events,  vrais  evenc- 
ments.  You  cannot  imagine,  Grigory  Mikhaflo- 
vitch,  quel  succes  die  a  eul  The  entire  Court 
noticed  her!  Prince  Alexander  Feodorovitch 
said  that  her  place  was  not  here,  that  she  re- 
minded him  of  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  .  . 
well,  you  know  .  .  the  famous  one.  .  .  And  old 
Blazenkampf  declared,  in  the  hearing  of  every 
one,  that  Irma  was  la  reine  du  bal,  and  asked  to  be 
presented  to  her ;  and  he  introduced  himself  to  me 
—that  is  to  say,  he  told  me  that  he  remembered 
me  as  a  hussar,  and  inquired  where  I  was  serving 
now.  He  's  very  amusing,  that  Count,  and  such 
an  adorateur  du  beau  sexel  But  what  am  I  say- 
ing? .  .  .  And  my  Princess  also  ....  they 
gave  her  no  peace  either :  Natalya  Nikitishna  her- 
self conversed  with  her  .  .  .  what  more  would 
you  have?  Irma  danced  avec  tous  les  meilleurs 
cavaliers;  they  kept  introducing  them  and  intro- 
ducing them  to  me until  I  lost  count  of 

them.  Will  you  believe  it,  everybody  thronged 
around  us  in  crowds;  in  the  mazurka  they  did 
nothing  but  choose  her.  One  foreign  diplomat, 
on  learning  that  she  was  a  native  of  Moscow,  said 
to  the  Emperor:  'Sire*  said  he,— f decidement 
c'est  Moscou  qui  est  le  centre  de  votre  empire! ' 

83 


SMOKE 

and  another  diplomat  added:—  e  C'est  une  vraie 
revolution,  Sire ' ;  revelation  or  revolution  .... 
something  of  that  sort.  Yes  .  .  .  yes  ...  it 
...  it  ...  I  must  tell  you,  it  was  something  re- 
markable." 

"Well,  and  Irfna  Pavlovna  herself?  "  inquired 
Litvinoff ,  whose  feet  and  hands  had  turned  cold 
during  the  Prince's  speech: — "  did  she  enjoy  her- 
self, did  she  seem  pleased?  " 

"  Of  course  she  enjoyed  herself;  as  if  she  could 
help  being  pleased!  However,  you  know,  one 
cannot  make  her  out  immediately.  Every  one  said 
to  me  last  night:  *  How  amazing!  jamais  on  ne 
dirait  que  mademoiselle  votre  ftlle  est  a  son  pre- 
mier bal/  Count  Reisenbach,  among  the  rest; 
.  .  .  surely  you  must  know  him.  .  ." 

"  No,  I  do  not  know  him  at  all,  and  never  have 
known  him." 

"  He  's  my  wife's  first  cousin.  .  ." 

"  I  do  not  know  him." 

"He's  a  rich  man,  a  Court  Chamberlain;  he 
lives  in  Petersburg ;  he  's  all  the  fashion ;  he  twists 
everybody  in  Livonia  round  his  finger.  Up  to 
now  he  has  always  despised  us ;  ...  naturally,  I 
do  not  bear  him  any  grudge  for  that.  J'ai 
rhumeur  facile,  comme  vous  savez.  Well,  now 
there  was  he.  He  sat  down  beside  Irfna,  con- 
versed with  her  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  no  more, 
and  then  said  to  my  Princess :  f  Ma  cousinef  says 
he, '  votre  fille  est  une  perle;  c'est  une  perfection; 

84 


SMOKE 

every  one  is  complimenting  me  on  my  niece.  .  .  .' 
And  then  I  saw  that  he  went  up  to  .  .  an  impor- 
tant personage,  and  kept  staring  at  Irina  all  the 
while  . . .  well,  and  the  personage  stared  also. . . ." 

"  And  so  Irina  Pavlovna  will  not  be  visible  all 
day?  "  inquired  Litvinoff  again. 

"  No;  she  has  a  very  bad  headache.  She  asked 
to  be  remembered  to  you,  and  that  we  should 
thank  you  for  your  bouquet,  qu'on  a  trouve  char- 
mant.  She  must  rest.  .  .  My  Princess  has  gone 
out  to  pay  calls  .  .  and  I  myself,  you  see  .  .  .  ." 

The  Prince  coughed  and  began  to  shuffle  his 
feet  about,  as  though  at  a  loss  what  more  to  say. 
Litvinoff  took  his  hat,  said  that  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  embarrassing  him,  and  would  call  later  to 
inquire  after  his  health,  and  took  his  departure. 

A  few  paces  from  the  Osinins'  house  he  caught 
sight  of  a  dandified  two-seated  carriage,  which 
had  halted  in  front  of  the  police  sentry-box.  A 
liveried  footman,  also  dandified,  was  bending 
carelessly  down  from  the  box  and  inquiring  of  the 
sentry,  who  was  a  Finn,  whereabouts  in  the  vicin- 
ity dwelt  Prince  Pavel  Vasilievitch  Osinin. 
Litvinoff  glanced  into  the  carriage:  in  it  sat  a 
middle-aged  man,  of  sanguine  complexion,  with  a 
frowning  and  haughty  face,  a  Grecian  nose,  and 
evil  lips,  enveloped  in  a  sable  cloak, — a  high  dig- 
nitary, by  all  the  signs. 


85 


IX 

LITVINOFF  did  not  keep  his  promise  to  call  later; 
he  reflected  that  it  would  be  better  to  defer  his  visit 
until  the  following  day.  When,  about  twelve 
o'clock,  he  entered  the  familiar  drawing-room,  he 
found  there  the  two  younger  Princesses,  Victo- 
rinka  and  Cleopatrinka.  He  greeted  them,  then 
inquired:  was  Irina  Pavlovna  feeling  any  better, 
and  could  he  see  her? 

"  Irinotchka  has  gone  out  wiv  mamma,"  re- 
plied Victorfnka;  although  she  lisped,  she  was 
more  vivacious  than  her  sister. 

'  What  .  .  .  she  has  gone  out?  "  repeated  Lit- 
vinoff,  and  something  shivered  within  him  in  the 
depths  of  his  breast. — "Doesn't  .  .  .  doesn't 
.  .  .  does  n't  she  occupy  herself  with  you  at  this 
hour — does  n't  she  give  you  lessons?  " 

"  Irinotchka  ith  n't  going  to  give  us  lethonth 
any  more,"  replied  Victorinka.— "  She  isn't  go- 
ing to  any  more,"  Cleopatrinka  repeated  after 
her. 

"  And  is  your  papa  at  home?  "  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  Papa  ith  n't  at  home,  eiver,"  continued  Vic- 
torinka;—" and  Irinotchka  is  ill:  she  cwied,  cwied 
all  night  long.  .  ." 

86 


SMOKE 

"  She  cried? " 

'  Yeth,  she  cwied.  .  .  Egorovna  told  me,  and 
her  eyes  are  so  wed,  as  though  they  were 
swol— len.  .  ." 

Litvinoff  paced  up  and  down  the  room  a  couple 
of  times,  shivering  slightly,  as  though  with  cold, 
and  returned  to  his  lodgings.  He  experienced 
a  sensation  akin  to  that  which  takes  possession  of 
a  man  when  he  gazes  down  from  the  summit  of  a 
lofty  tower:  everything  died  away  within  him, 
and  his  head  swam  quietly  and  mawkishly.  Dull 
surprise  and  a  mouse-like  scampering  of  thoughts, 
ill-defined  alarm  and  dumb  anticipation,  and 
strange,  almost  malicious  curiosity,  in  his  com- 
pressed throat  the  bitterness  of  unshed  tears,  on 
his  lips  the  effort  at  an  empty  smirk,  and  an  en- 
treaty addressed  to  no  one  .  .  oh,  how  cruel  and 
humiliatingly  repulsive  it  all  was!  "  Irina  does 
not  wish  to  see  me,"  kept  whirling  incessantly 
through  his  brain,  "  that  is  clear ;  but  why  ?  What 
can  have  taken  place  at  that  ill-starred  ball?  And 
how  is  such  a  change,  all  at  once,  possible?  So 
suddenly.  .  ."  (People  are  constantly  observing 
that  death  comes  unexpectedly,  but  they  cannot 
possibly  accustom  themselves  to  its  suddenness, 
and  think  it  senseless.)  — "  She  sends  me  no  mes- 
sage, she  does  not  wish  to  come  to  an  explanation 
with  me.  .  .  ." 

"  Grigory  Mikhaflovitch,"  cried  a  strained  voice 
in  his  very  ear. 

87 


SMOKE 

Litvinoff  started,  and  beheld  before  him  his 
man  with  a  note  in  his  hand.  He  recognised 
Irma's  handwriting.  .  .  Even  before  he  had 
broken  the  seal  of  the  note  he  had  a  foreboding 
of  misfortune,  and  bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast 
and  hunched  up  his  shoulders,  as  though  warding 
off  a  blow. 

At  last  he  summoned  his  courage  and  tore  off 
the  envelope  with  one  movement.  On  a  small 
sheet  of  note-paper  stood  the  following  words: 

"Forgive  me,  Grigdry  Mikhailitch.  Everything  is 
at  an  end  between  us.  I  am  going  to  Petersburg.  It 
distresses  me  dreadfully,  but  the  deed  is  done.  Evi- 
dently, it  is  my  fate;  .  .  but  no,  I  will  not  try  to  justify 
myself.  My  forebodings  have  been  realised.  Forgive 
me,  forget  me ;  I  am  not  worthy  of  you. 

'  *  Be  magnanimous :  do  not  try  to  see  me. 

"ImiNA." 

LitvmofF  read  these  five  lines  and  sank  back 
slowly  on  the  couch,  as  though  some  one  had  dealt 
him  a  blow  in  the  breast.  He  dropped  the  note, 
picked  it  up,  read  it  again,  whispered,  "  To  Pe- 
tersburg," dropped  it  again,  and  that  was  all. 
Tranquillity  descended  upon  him;  he  even  ad- 
justed the  cushion  under  his  head  with  his  hands, 
which  were  thrown  behind  him.  "  Those  who  are 
wounded  unto  death  do  not  toss  about,"  he  said 
to  himself;  "  as  it  has  come,  so  it  has  gone.  .  .  All 
this  is  natural;  I  have  always  expected  this.  .  ." 

88 


SMOKE 

(He  lied  to  himself:  he  had  never  expected  any- 
thing of  the  sort.)  "  Wept?  She  wept? . .  What 
did  she  weep  about?  For  she  did  not  love  me! 
However,  it  is  all  comprehensible  and  in  conso- 
nance with  her  character.  She,  she  is  not  worthy 
of  me.  .  .  The  idea!"  (He  laughed  bitterly.) 
"  She  herself  did  not  know  what  force  was  con- 
cealed within  her ;  well,  but  after  convincing  her- 
self of  its  effects  at  the  ball,  how  could  she  put 
up  with  an  insignificant  student?  ...  It  is  all  in- 
telligible enough." 

But  here  he  recalled  her  tender  words,  her 
smiles,  and  those  eyes— those  unforgettable  eyes, 
which  he  would  never  see  again,  which  both 
beamed  and  melted  at  the  mere  encounter  with  his 
eyes;  he  recalled  also  one  swift,  timid,  burning 
kiss — and  all  of  a  sudden  he  burst  out  sobbing, 
and  sobbed  convulsively,  wildly,  venomously, 
turned  over  on  his  face,  and  choked,  and  sighed 
with  fierce  enjoyment,  as  though  thirsting  to  rend 
himself  and  everything  about  him,  thrust  his  in- 
flamed face  into  the  cushion  of  the  divan  and 
bit  it.  .  . 

Alas!  The  gentleman  whom  Litvinoff  had 
seen  on  the  previous  day  in  the  carriage  was  pre- 
cisely that  first  cousin  of  the  Princess  Osinin,  the 
wealthy  man  and  Chamberlain  of  the  Court, 
Count  Reisenbach.  On  perceiving  the  impres- 
sion which  Irfna  had  made  on  persons  of  the  high- 
est position,  and  instantaneously  calculating  what 

89 


SMOKE 

advantages,  "  mil  etwas  Accuratesse"  might  be 
derived  from  that  fact,  the  Count,  being  an  ener- 
getic man  and  one  who  understood  how  to  render 
obsequious  service,  immediately  drew  up  his  plan. 
He  decided  to  act  promptly,  in  Napoleonic  fash- 
ion. "  I  will  take  that  original  young  girl  into 
my  own  house,"  he  reflected ;  "  in  Petersburg  I 
will  make  her  my  heiress,  devil  take  it,  well,  of 
almost  all  my  estate;  I  happen  to  have  no  chil- 
dren ;  she  is  my  niece,  and  my  Countess  finds  life 
tiresome  alone.  .  .  At  any  rate,  it  will  be  more 
agreeable  when  there  is  a  pretty  little  face  in  the 
drawing-room.  .  .  Yes,  yes ;  that 's  so :  es  ist  eine 
Idee,  es  ist  eine  Idee! "  He  must  dazzle,  confuse, 
startle  her  parents. — "  They  have  nothing  to  eat," 
the  Count  pursued  his  meditations,  as  he  sat  in 
his  carriage  and  was  being  driven  to  the  Dogs' 
Square,  "  therefore,  in  all  probability,  they  will 
not  prove  obstinate.  They  're  not  so  very  sensi- 
tive. I  might  give  them  a  sum  of  money.  But 
she?  And  she  will  consent  also.  Honey  is  sweet 
.  .  .  she  got  a  taste  of  it  last  night.  It  is  a  caprice 
of  mine,  let  us  assume ;  then  let  them  profit  by  it 
.  .  .  the  fools.  I  shall  say  to  them:  thus  and  so; 
come  to  a  decision.  Otherwise,  I  shall  take  some 
other  girl;  an  orphan — which  is  more  convenient. 
Yes  or  no,  I  give  you  twenty-four  hours  to  make 
up  your  minds,  und  damit  Punctum." 

With  these  same  words  upon  his  lips,  the  Count 
presented  himself  before  the  Prince,  whom  he  had 

90 


already,  on  the  previous  evening  at  the  ball,  fore- 
warned of  his  visit.  It  seems  not  worth  while  to 
enter  at  length  into  the  results  of  this  visit.  The 
Count  had  made  no  mistake  in  his  calculations: 
the  Prince  and  Princess  really  did  not  prove  re- 
fractory, and  accepted  the  sum  of  money,  and 
Irina  really  did  consent,  without  waiting  for  the 
expiration  of  the  appointed  term.  It  was  not  easy 
for  her  to  break  her  bond  with  Litvmoff ;  she  loved 
him,  and,  when  she  had  sent  him  the  note,  she 
almost  took  to  her  bed,  wept  incessantly,  grew 
thin  and  sallow.  .  .  But,  nevertheless,  a  month 
later  the  Princess  took  her  away  to  Petersburg, 
and  settled  her  at  the  Count's,  confiding  her  to 
the  guardianship  of  the  Countess,  a  very  kind 
woman,  but  with  the  mind  of  a  chicken  and  the 
exterior  of  a  chicken. 

But  LitvinofF  then  abandoned  the  university, 
and  went  off  to  his  father  in  the  country.  Little 
by  little  his  wound  healed.  At  first  he  heard  noth- 
ing about  Irina,  and  he  avoided  talking  about 
Petersburg  and  Petersburg  society.  Then  grad- 
ually reports  began  to  circulate  about  her,  not  evil, 
but  strange  reports ;  rumour  began  to  busy  itself 
with  her.  The  name  of  the  young  Princess  Osi- 
nin,  surrounded  with  splendour,  stamped  with  a 
special  seal,  came  to  be  more  and  more  frequently 
mentioned  in  provincial  circles.  It  was  uttered 
with  curiosity,  with  respect,  with  envy,  as  the 
name  of  Countess  Vorotynsky  had  formerly  been 

91 


SMOKE 

uttered.  At  last  the  news  of  her  marriage  was 
spread  abroad.  But  Litvinoff  paid  hardly  any 
attention  to  this  last  bit  of  news :  he  was  already 
betrothed  to  Tatyana. 

And  now  it  has  probably  become  intelligible 
to  the  reader  precisely  what  it  was  that  recurred 
to  Litvinoff,  when  he  exclaimed:  "  Is  it  possible!  " 
and  therefore  we  will  now  return  to  Baden  and 
resume  the  thread  of  our  interrupted  story. 


92 


IT  was  very  late  when  Litvmoff  got  to  sleep,  and 
he  did  not  sleep  long:  the  sun  had  only  just  risen 
when  he  rose  from  his  bed.  The  summits  of  the 
dark  hills  which  were  visible  from  his  windows 
were  glowing  with  a  moist  crimson  hue  against 
the  clear  sky.  "  How  fresh  it  must  be  yonder,  un- 
der the  trees!  "  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  hastily 
dressed  himself,  cast  an  abstracted  glance  at 
the  bouquet,  which  had  blossomed  out  even  more 
luxuriantly  during  the  night,  took  his  cane,  and 
betook  himself  to  the  well-known  "  Cliffs,"  behind 
the  "  Old  Castle."  The  morning  enveloped  him 
in  its  strong  and  tranquil  caress.  He  breathed 
vigorously,  he  moved  vigorously;  the  health  of 
youth  played  in  his  every  sinew;  the  earth  itself 
seemed  to  rise  up  to  meet  his  light  tread.  With 
every  step  he  felt  more  amiably  disposed,  more 
cheerful :  he  walked  along  in  the  dewy  shade,  over 
the  coarse  sand  of  the  paths,  past  the  pines,  the 
tips  of  all  whose  twigs  were  rimmed  with  the  vivid 
green  of  the  spring  shoots.  "  How  glorious  this 
is!"  he  kept  saying  to  himself.  All  at  once  he 
heard  voices  that  were  familiar  to  him :  he  glanced 
ahead  and  descried  Voroshiloff  and  Bambaeff, 

93 


SMOKE 

who  were  walking  toward  him.  He  fairly 
writhed :  he  darted  aside,  like  a  school-boy  evading 
his  teacher,  and  hid  behind  a  bush. . .  "Oh,my  Cre- 
ator! "  he  prayed,  "  carry  my  fellow-countrymen 
past!"  It  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  that 
he  would  have  begrudged  no  amount  of  money, 
if  only  they  might  not  catch  sight  of  him.  .  .  And, 
in  fact,  they  did  not  catch  sight  of  him :  the  Crea- 
tor bore  his  fellow-countrymen  past.  Voroshiloff , 
with  his  cadet-like  self-complacent  voice,  was  ex- 
plaining to  Bambaeff  about  the  various  "  phases  " 
of  Gothic  architecture,  while  Bambaeff  merely 
grunted  approvingly ;  it  was  evident  that  Voroshi- 
loff had  already  been  overwhelming  him  for  a 
long  time  with  his  "  phases,"  and  the  good- 
natured  enthusiast  was  beginning  to  be  bored. 
Long  did  Litvinoff,  biting  his  lip,  and  craning 
his  neck,  listen  to  the  retreating  footsteps;  long 
did  cadences,  now  guttural,  now  nasal,  of  that  in- 
structive harangue  resound;  at  last  all  became 
silent.  Litvinoff  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  emerged 
from  his  ambush,  and  pursued  his  way. 

For  three  hours  he  roamed  about  the  mountains. 
Now  he  deserted  the  path,  and  leaped  from  rock 
to  rock,  occasionally  slipping  on  the  smooth  moss ; 
again  he  seated  himself  on  a  fragment  of  the 
cliff,  beneath  an  oak  or  a  beech,  and  indulged  in 
pleasant  thoughts,  to  the  ceaseless  murmur  of  the 
brooks,  overgrown  with  ferns,  the  soothing  rus- 
tle of  the  leaves,  and  the  ringing  song  of  a  solitary 

94 


SMOKE 

blackbird;  a  slight  drowsiness,  also  agreeable, 
stole  upon  him,  seemed  to  embrace  him  from  be- 
hind, and  he  fell  asleep  .  .  .  but  suddenly  he 
smiled  and  cast  a  glance  about  him :  the  green  and 
gold  of  the  forest,  of  the  forest  air,  beat  gently 
on  his  sight— and  again  he  smiled,  and  again  he 
closed  his  eyes.  He  felt  like  breakfasting,  and  be- 
took himself  in  the  direction  of  the  "  Old  Castle," 
where,  for  a  few  kreutzers,  he  would  be  able  to 
obtain  a  glass  of  good  milk  and  coffee.  But  he 
had  not  succeeded  in  taking  his  place  at  one  of 
the  small  white-painted  tables,  which  stood  on  the 
platform  in  front  of  the  castle,  when  he  heard  the 
laboured  snorting  of  horses,  and  three  calashes 
made  their  appearance,  from  which  poured  forth 
a  rather  numerous  party  of  ladies  and  cavaliers 
....  LitvinofF  immediately  recognised  them  for 
Russians,  although  they  were  all  talking  in 
French  .  .  because  they  were  talking  in  French. 
The  toilets  of  the  ladies  were  distinguished 
by  exquisite  smartness;  the  cavaliers  wore 
brand-new  coats,  but  tight-fitting  and  with  a  well- 
defined  waist,  which  is  not  altogether  usual  in  our 
day,  trousers  of  grey  figured  material,  and  very 
shiny  city  hats.  A  low,  black  neckcloth  closely 
encircled  the  neck  of  each  cavalier,  and  something 
military  made  itself  felt  in  their  whole  bearing. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  military  men ;  Lit- 
vmofF had  happened  upon  a  picnic  of  young  gen- 
erals, persons  of  the  highest  society,  and  of  con- 

95 


SMOKE 

siderable  importance.  Their  importance  was  an- 
nounced in  every  point:  in  their  discreet  ease  of 
manner,  in  their  gracefully  majestic  smiles,  in  the 
strained  abstraction  of  their  glance,  in  the  effem- 
inate twitching  of  their  shoulders,  in  the  swaying 
motion  of  their  figures,  and  in  the  bend  of  their 
knees ;  it  was  betrayed  by  the  very  sound  of  their 
voices,  which  seemed  to  be  amiably  and  fastidi- 
ously returning  thanks  to  a  subservient  throng. 
All  these  warriors  were  splendidly  washed, 
shaved,  perfumed  through  and  through  with  some 
scent  or  other  which  is  a  genuine  appurtenance  of 
the  nobility  and  the  Guards,  a  mixture  of  the  most 
capital  cigar  smoke  and  the  most  astonishing 
patchouli.  And  all  their  hands  were  those  of 
nobles— white,  large, with  nails  as  strong  as  ivory; 
the  moustaches  of  all  fairly  shone,  their  teeth 
gleamed,  and  their  very  delicate  skin  was  red  on 
the  cheeks,  blue  on  the  chin.  Some  of  the  young 
generals  were  playful,  others  were  thoughtful; 
but  the  stamp  of  superior  propriety  lay  upon  them 
all.  Each  one,  apparently,  was  profoundly  con- 
scious of  his  own  worth,  and  of  the  dignity  of  his 
future  part  in  the  empire,  and  bore  himself  se- 
verely and  boldly,  with  a  faint  tinge  of  that  f risk- 
iness, that  "  devil-take-me  "  air,  which  so  natu- 
rally makes  its  appearance  during  travels  abroad. 
Having  noisily  and  pompously  seated  them- 
selves, the  company  summoned  the  bustling  wait- 
ers. Litvinoff  made  haste  to  finish  his  glass  of 

96 


SMOKE 

milk,  paid  what  he  owed,  and  pulling  his  hat  well 
down  over  his  eyes,  he  was  on  the  point  of  slip- 
ping past  the  picnic  of  generals.  .  . 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"  said  a  woman's  voice. 

"  Don't  you  know  me?  " 

He  involuntarily  halted.  That  voice.  .  That 
voice  had  but  too  often  caused  his  heart  to  beat 
in  days  gone  by.  .  .  He  turned  round  and  beheld 
Irfna. 

She  was  sitting  at  a  table,  and  with  her  arms 
crossed  on  the  back  of  a  chair  which  had  been 
pushed  aside,  she  was  gazing  at  him  courteously, 
almost  joyously,  with  her  head  bent  on  one  side, 
and  smiling. 

Litvinoff  instantly  recognised  her,  although  she 
had  changed  since  he  had  seen  her  for  the  last 
time,  ten  years  previously,  although  from  a  young 
girl  she  had  become  a  woman.  Her  slender  figure 
had  developed  and  blossomed  out,  the  lines  of  her 
formerly  compressed  shoulders  now  suggested 
those  of  the  goddesses  who  start  forth  from  the 
ceilings  of  ancient  Italian  palaces.  But  her  eyes 
remained  the  same,  and  it  seemed  to  Litvinoff 
that  they  were  gazing  at  him  in  the  same  manner 
as  then,  in  that  tiny  house  in  Moscow. 

"  Irfna  Pavlovna  .  .  .  ."  he  began  irresolutely. 

"  You  recognise  me?  How  glad  I  am!  .  .  . 
how  I  ..."  (She  paused,  blushed  slightly,  and 
drew  herself  up. )  "  This  is  a  very  pleasant  meet- 
ing," she  went  on  in  French.—  "  Allow  me  to  in- 

97 


SMOKE 

troduce  you  to  my  husband.  Valerien,  Monsieur 
Litvinoif ,  un  ami  d'enfance;  Valerian  Vladimiro- 
vitch  Ratmiroff,  my  husband." 

One  of  the  young  generals,  almost  the  most  ele- 
gant of  them  all,  rose  from  his  chair,  and  bowed 
to  Litvinoff  with  extreme  courtesy,  while  his  re- 
maining comrades  knit  their  brows  slightly,  or, 
not  so  much  knit  their  brows,  as  became  immersed, 
for  the  moment,  each  one  in  himself,  as  though 
protesting  in  advance  at  any  connection  with  a 
strange  civilian,  while  the  other  ladies  who  were 
taking  part  in  the  picnic  considered  it  necessary 
to  screw  their  eyes  up  a  trifle  and  to  grin,  and 
even  to  express  dissatisfaction  on  their  faces. 

'  You Have  you  been  long  in  Baden?  "  in- 
quired General  Ratmiroff,  assuming  an  affected 
air,  in  a  certain  non-Russian  fashion,  and  evi- 
dently not  knowing  what  to  talk  about  with  the 
friend  of  his  wife's  youth. 

"  Not  long,"  replied  Litvinoff. 

"  And  do  you  intend  to  remain  long? "  went 
on  the  polite  general. 

"  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind." 

"  Ah!    That  is  very  pleasant  .  .  .  very." 

The  general  became  dumb.  Litvinoff  also 
maintained  silence. 

Both  held  their  hats  in  their  hands,  and  with 
bodies  inclined  forward  and  teeth  displayed,  they 
stared  at  each  other's  brows. 

"  Deux  gendarmes  un  beau  dimancke"  struck 
98 


SMOKE 

up,  out  of  tune,  as  a  matter  of  course,— we  have 
yet  to  meet  the  Russian  noble  who  does  not  sing 
out  of  tune, — a  mole-eyed,  sallow  general  with  an 
expression  of  perpetual  irritation  on  his  face,  as 
though  he  could  not  pardon  himself  for  his  own 
appearance.  He  was  the  only  one  among  all  those 
comrades  who  did  not  resemble  a  rose. 

"  But  why  do  not  you  sit  down,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailitch?  "  remarked  Irina  at  last. 

Litvinoff  obeyed  and  sat  down. 

"  I  say,  Valerian,  give  me  a  light,"  said  (in 
English)  another  general,  also  young  but  already 
obese,  with  immovable  eyes,  which  seemed  to  be 
riveted  on  the  air,  and  with  thick,  silky  side- 
whiskers,  in  which  he  slowly  plunged  his  snow- 
white  fingers.  Ratmiroff  gave  him  a  silver  box 
filled  with  matches. 

<c  Avec  vous  des  papiros?  "  inquired  one  of  the 
ladies,  with  a  lisp. 

"  De  vrais  papelitos,  comtesse" 

"  Deux  gendarmes  un  beau  dimanclie"  struck 
up  the  mole-eyed  general  again,  almost  gnashing 
his  teeth. 

"  You  certainly  must  call  upon  us,"  Irina  was 
saying,  meanwhile,  to  Litvinoff.-  '  We  are  liv- 
ing in  the  Hotel  de  1'Europe.  I  am  always  at 
home  from  four  until  six.  You  and  I  have  not 
seen  each  other  for  a  long  time." 

Litvinoff  cast  a  glance  at  Irina;  she  did  not 
lower  her  eyes- 

09 


SMOKE 

"  Yes,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it  is  a  long  time.  Not 
since  Moscow  days." 

"  Since  Moscow  days— since  Moscow  days," 
she  repeated  haltingly.— "  Do  come;  we  will 
have  a  chat  and  recall  old  times.  But,  do  you 
know,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  you  have  not  altered 
much." 

"  Really?  But  you  have  changed,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna." 

"  I  have  grown  old." 

"  No,  that  was  not  what  I  meant  to  say.  .  ." 

"Irene?"  in  an  inquiring  tone  of  voice,  said  one 
of  the  ladies,  with  a  yellow  bonnet  on  yellow  hair, 
after  a  preliminary  whisper  and  giggle  with  the 
cavalier  who  sat  beside  her.—"  Irina?  " 

"  I  have  grown  old,"  repeated  Irina,  making 
no  reply  to  the  lady;  "  but  I  have  not  changed. 
No,  no,  I  have  not  changed  in  any  way." 

ff  Deux  gendarmes  un  beau  dimanche! "  rang 
out  again.  The  irritable  general  could  recall  only 
the  first  line  of  the  familiar  song. 

"  It  still  pricks,  Your  Illustriousness,"  said  the 
fat  general  with  the  side-whiskers  in  a  loud  voice, 
pronouncing  his  os  broadly,  probably  in  allusion 
to  some  amusing  story  familiar  to  the  whole  beau 
monde_,  and  uttering  a  curt,  wooden  laugh,  he 
again  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  air.  All  the  rest  of 
the  party  broke  out  laughing  also. 

'  What  a  sad  dog  you  are,  Boris! "  remarked 
(in  English)  Ratmiroff  in  a  low  tone.  He  even 

100 


SMOKE 

pronounced  the  name  "  Boris "  in  English 
fashion. 

"  Irene?  "  inquired  for  the  third  time,  the  lady 
in  the  yellow  bonnet.  Irina  turned  quickly  to- 
ward her. 

"  Eh,  bien!  quoi?    Que  me  voulez-vous?  " 

"  Je  vous  le  dirai  plus  tard"  replied  the  lady 
affectedly.  Although  possessed  of  an  extremely 
unattractive  exterior,  she  was  constantly  indulg- 
ing in  affectations  and  grimaces;  a  certain  wit 
had  once  said  of  her  that  she  "minaudait  dans  le 
vide  " — made  grimaces  at  empty  space. 

Irfna  frowned  and  impatiently  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  Mais  que  fait  done  Monsieur  Verdier?  Pour- 
quoi  ne  vient-il  pas?  "  exclaimed  one  lady,  with 
those  drawling  accents  which  are  insufferable  to 
French  ears,  and  which  constitute  the  specialty  of 
the  Great  Russian  pronunciation. 

"  Akh,  you,  akh,  you,  Monsieur  Verdier,  Mon- 
sieur Verdier,"  groaned  a  lady,  who  had  certainly 
been  born  in  Arzamas. 

"  Tranquillisez-vous,  mesdames"  interposed 
Ratmiroff :— " Monsieur  Verdier  ma  promis  de 
venir  se  mettre  a  vos  pieds." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"— the  ladies  began  to  flutter 
their  fans. 

The  waiter  brought  several  glasses  of  beer. 

"  Bairisch-bier?  "  inquired  the  general  with  the 
side-whiskers,  intentionally  speaking  in  a  bass 

101 


SMOKE 

voice,  and  pretending  to  be  surprised.—"  Guten 
Mor gen" 

"Well?  Is  Count  Pavel  still  there?"  one 
young  general  coldly  and  languidly  asked  an- 
other. 

'  Yes,"— replied  the  other,  with  equal  coldness. 
— "  Mais  cest  provisoire.  Serge,  they  say,  is  in 
his  place." 

"  Oho!  "  hissed  the  other  through  his  teeth. 

"  Ye-es,"  hissed  the  first. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  began  the  general  who 
had  been  humming  the  song: — "  I  cannot  under- 
stand what  possessed  Polya  to  defend  himself,  to 
allege  various  excuses.  .  .  Well,  he  molested  the 
merchant,  il  lui  a  fait  rendre  gorge  .  .  .  well,  but 
what  of  that?  He  may  have  had  his  reasons." 

"  He  was  afraid  .  .  of  being  shown  up  in  the 
newspapers,"  muttered  some  one. 

The  irritable  general  flared  up. 

"  Well,  that  is  the  very  worst  of  all !  The  news- 
papers! Shown  up!  If  it  had  depended  on  me, 
all  I  would  permit  your  newspapers  to  print 
would  be  the  fixed  prices  of  meat  and  of  bread, 
and  the  advertisements  of  the  sale  of  fur  cloaks 
and  boots." 

"  And  of  noblemen's  estates  at  auction,"  put 
in  RatmirofF. 

"  If  you  like,  under  present  conditions.  But 
what  a  conversation  in  Baden,  at  the  Vieux  Cha- 
teau!" 

102 


SMOKE 

"  Mais  pas  du  tout!  pas  du  tout! "  lisped  the 
lady  in  the  yellow  bonnet. — "  J 'adore  Ics  questions 
politiques." 

"  Madame  a  raison"  interposed  another  gen- 
eral, with  an  extremely  agreeable  and  rather  ef- 
feminate face.—"  Why  should  we  avoid  those 
questions  .  .  .  even  in  Baden?  "  At  these  words 
he  glanced  politely  at  Litvinoff,  and  smiled  con- 
descendingly.— "  An  upright  man  ought  no- 
where, under  any  circumstances,  to  renounce  his 
convictions.  Is  not  that  true  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  irritable  general,  also 
casting  his  eyes  on  Litvfnoff ,  and,  as  it  were,  in- 
directly reproving  him:—"  but  I  do  not  perceive 
the  necessity  .  .  ." 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  the  condescending  gen- 
eral, with  his  former  mildness. 

"  Here  our  friend,  Valerian  Vladimirovitch, 
alluded  to  the  sale  of  noblemen's  estates.  What 
of  that?  Is  it  not  a  fact?" 

"  But  it  is  impossible  to  sell  them  now ;  nobody 
wants  them!  "  exclaimed  the  irritable  general. 

"  Possibly  .  .  .  possibly.  Therefore,  it  is  nec- 
essary to  declare  that  fact  .  .  .  that  sad  fact,  at 
every  step.  We  are  ruined— very  good.  We  are 
humiliated,— it  is  impossible  to  dispute  that;  but 
we  large  proprietors,  we  represent  a  principle  .  . 
un  principe  .  .  .  nevertheless.  It  is  our  duty  to 
uphold  that  principle.  Pardon,  madame,  I  think 
you  have  dropped  your  handkerchief.  When  a 

103 


SMOKE 

certain  blindness,  so  to  speak,  takes  possession  of 
even  the  loftiest  minds,  we  ought  to  point  out— 
humbly  point  out "  (the  general  stretched  out 
his  finger), — "point  out  with  the  finger  to  the 
citizen  the  abyss  whither  everything  is  hastening. 
We  ought  to  utter  a  warning:  we  ought  to  say 
with  respectful  firmness: '  turn  back,  turn  back.  .' 
That  is  what  we  ought  to  say." 

"  But  it  is  impossible  to  turn  back  completely," 
remarked  RatmirofF  thoughtfully. 

The  condescending  general  merely  grinned. 

"  Completely;  completely  back,  mon  tres  cher. 
The  further  back  the  better." 

Again  the  general  cast  a  polite  glance  at  Litvi- 
noff .  The  latter  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 

4  You  would  not  have  us  return  to  the  time  of 
the  Seven  Boyars,  Your  Excellency?  " 

"  Even  that!  I  expressed  my  meaning  without 
any  ambiguity;  we  must  do  over  .  .  .  yes  .  .  . 
do  over  everything  that  has  been  done." 

"  And  the  nineteenth  of  February  also? " 

"Yes, the  nineteenth  of  February1  also,— so  far 
as  that  is  possible.  On  est  patriote  ou  on  ne  I'est 
pas.  '  But  freedom  ? '  I  shall  be  asked.  Do  you 
think  this  freedom  is  sweet  to  the  people?  Just 
ask  them.  ..." 

"Try,"  retorted  Litvfnoff:— "  try  to  deprive 
them  of  that  freedom.  .  ." 

1  The  date  of  the  Emancipation  Proclamation,  March  3, 
1861.— TRANSLATOR. 

104 


SMOKE 

"  Comment  nommez-vous  ce  monsieur?  "  whis- 
pered the  general  to  Ratmiroff. 

"  But  what  are  you  talking  about  there?  "  sud- 
denly began  the  fat  general,  who,  evidently, 
played  the  part  of  a  spoiled  child  in  this  company. 
"  Still  about  the  newspapers?  About  quill- 
drivers?  Let  me  tell  you  what  an  experience  I 
had  with  a  quill-driver — it  was  splendid!  I  was 
told:  fun  folliculaire  has  written  a  libel  on  you.' 
Well,  of  course,  I  immediately  called  him  to  ac- 
count. They  brought  the  dear  man.  .  .  '  How 
come  you,'  says  I,  '  my  friend,  folliculaire,  to  be 
writing  libels?  Have  you  conquered  your  patri- 
otism? '  *  I  have,'  says  he.  '  Well,  and  do  you 
love  money,  folliculaire? '  says  I.  'I  do,'  says  he. 
So  then,  my  dear  sirs,  I  let  him  smell  of  the  knob 
of  my  cane. — '  And  do  you  love  this  also,  my 
angel? ' — '  No,'  says  he,  *  I  don't  love  that.'— 
'  Well,'  says  I, '  you  smell  of  that  in  proper  fash- 
ion—my hands  are  clean.'—'  I  don't  like  it,'  says 
he,  '  and  that 's  enough.'—'  But  I,  my  dear  fel- 
low,' says  I, '  love  it  very  much,  only  not  for  my- 
self. Do  you  understand  this  allegory,  my 
treasure?  '—'I  understand,'  says  he.—'  Then  look 
to  it,  be  a  good  boy  hereafter,  and  now  here  's  a 
ruble  for  you ;  take  yourself  off,  and  bless  me  day 
and  night.'  And  the  folliculaire  departed." 

The  general  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  all  the 
others  again  followed  his  example  and  laughed- 
all,  with  the  exception  of  Irina,  who  did  not  even 

105 


SMOKE 

smile,  and  stared  in  a  somewhat  gloomy  manner 
at  the  story-teller. 

The  condescending  general  tapped  Boris  on  the 
shoulder. 

'  You  invented  the  whole  of  that,  my  beloved 
friend.  .  As  if  you  would  menace  any  one  with  a 
cane.  .  .  You  have  n  't  even  any  cane.  C'est 
pour  faire  rire  ces  dames.  It  was  just  for  the 
sake  of  a  joke.  But  that 's  not  the  point.  I  said 
a  while  ago  that  we  must  return  completely. 
Understand  me,  I  am  not  an  enemy  to  so-called 
progress ;  but  all  those  universities  and  seminaries 
there,  and  schools  for  the  common  people,  those 
students,  priests'  sons,  plebeians,  and  that  small 
fry,  tout  ce  fond  du  sac,  la  petite  propriete,  pire 
que  le  proletariat " —  (the  general  spoke  in  a  sub- 
dued, almost  prostrated  voice)  —"  voila  ce  qui 
m'effraie  .  .  .  that  is  what  must  be  stopped  .  .  . 
and  it  will  stop."  (Again  he  cast  a  caressing 
glance  at  Litvinoff . )  '  Yes,  sir,  we  must  call  a 
halt.  Do  not  forget  that  with  us  no  one  demands 
anything,  asks  anything.  Does  any  one  ask  for 
self-government,  for  example  ?  Do  you  ask  for  it  ? 
Or  dost  thou?  or  thou?  or  do  you,  mesdames?  For 
you  not  only  govern  yourselves  but  also  all  the 
rest  of  us."  (The  general's  extremely  handsome 
countenance  lighted  up  with  an  amused  smile.) 
"  My  dear  friends,  why  flee  like  a  hare?  Democ- 
racy delights  in  you,  it  burns  incense  before  you,  it 
is  ready  to  subserve  your  ends  .  .  for  you  know 

106 


SMOKE 

this  sword  is  two-edged.  The  old  ways  of  times 
gone  by  are  the  best,  after  all  .  .  They  are  much 
safer.  Do  not  permit  the  common  people  to  rea- 
son, and  put  your  trust  in  the  aristocracy,  in  which 
alone  there  is  power.  .  .  Really,  it  will  be  better 
so.  But  as  for  progress  . . .  personally,  I  have  no 
objection  to  progress.  Only,  do  not  give  us  any 
lawyers,  and  jurors,  and  some  county  officials  or 
other — but  discipline,  most  of  all,  do  not  meddle 
with  discipline;  but  you  can  build  bridges,  and 
quays,  and  hospitals,  and  why  should  not  the 
streets  be  illuminated  with  gas? " 

"  Petersburg  has  been  fired  on  all  four  sides, 
and  there's  progress  for  you!"  hissed  the  irri- 
table general. 

"  Well,  I  perceive  that  you  are  rancorous,"  re- 
marked the  fat  general  languidly,  as  he  swayed 
to  and  fro.—"  It  would  be  a  good  thing  to  ap- 
point you  Chief  Procurator  of  the  Holy  Synod ; 
but,  in  my  opinion,  avec  Orphee  aux  enfers  le 
progres  a  dit  son  dernier  mot" 

"Vous  dites  ton  jours  des  betises"  giggled  the 
lady  from  Arzamas. 

The  general  assumed  an  air  of  dignity. 

"  Je  ne  suis  jamais  plus  serieux,  madame,  que 
quand  je  dis  des  betises" 

"Monsieur  Verdier  used  that  phrase  several 
times,"  remarked  Irina,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  De  la  poigne  et  des  formes! "  exclaimed  the 
fat  general:— "de  la  poigne  surtout.  And  that 

107 


SMOKE 

may  be  translated  into  Russian  thus:  be  cour- 
teous, but  give  it  to  them  straight  in  the  teeth! " 

"  Akh,  you  scamp,  you  incorrigible  scamp!" 
interposed  the  condescending  general.— "  Please 
do  not  listen  to  him,  mesdames.  He  would  not 
hurt  a  gnat.  He  contents  himself  with  devouring 
his  own  heart." 

'  Well,  but  no,  Boris,"  began  Ratmiroff,  ex- 
changing a  glance  with  his  wife:— "a  jest  is  a 
jest,  but  this  is  carrying  the  thing  too  far.  Prog- 
ress is  a  manifestation  of  social  life,  and  that 
must  be  borne  in  mind;  it  is  a  symptom.  One 
must  keep  an  eye  on  it." 

"  Well,  yes,"  returned  the  fat  general,  and 
wrinkled  up  his  nose. — "  'T  is  a  well-known  fact 
that  your  aim  is  to  be  a  statesman !  " 

"  My  aim  is  not  in  the  least,  to  become  a  states- 
man. .  .  What  has  statesmanship  to  do  with  that  ? 
But  one  must  not  refuse  to  admit  the  truth." 

"  Boris  "  again  plunged  his  fingers  into  his 
whiskers,  and  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  air. 

"  Social  life  is  very  important,  because  in  the 
development  of  a  nation,  in  the  fate,  so  to  speak, 
of  the  fatherland  .  .  .  ' 

'  Valerien,"  interrupted  "  Boris "  impres- 
sively:— "  il  y  a  des  dames  id.  I  did  not  expect 
this  from  you.  Or  do  you  wish  to  get  on  a  com- 
mittee?" " 

"  But  they  are  all  discontinued  now,  thank 
God,"  interposed  the  irritable  general,  and  again 

108 


SMOKE 

began  to  hum :  "  Deux  gendarmes  un  beau 
dimanche " 

Ratmiroff  raised  his  batiste  handkerchief  to  his 
nose,  and  gracefully  subsided  into  silence;  the 
irritable  general  repeated:  'The  scamp!  the 
scamp!  "  But  "  Boris  "  turned  to  the  lady  who 
was  making  grimaces  into  empty  space,  and, 
without  lowering  his  voice,  without  even  altering 
the  expression  of  his  face,  he  began  to  ask  her 
when  she  "  would  crown  his  flame,"  as  he  was 
amazingly  in  love  with  her,  and  was  suffering  to 
an  unusual  degree. 

With  every  moment  that  passed  during  the 
course  of  this  conversation  Litvinoff  felt  more 
and  more  uncomfortable.  His  pride,  his  honour- 
able, plebeian  pride,  fairly  rose  up  in  revolt. 
What  was  there  in  common  between  him,  the  son 
of  a  petty  official,  and  those  military  aristocrats 
from  Petersburg?  He  loved  everything  which 
they  hated,  he  hated  everything  which  they  loved ; 
he  recognised  that  fact  too  plainly :  he  felt  it  with 
his  whole  being.  He  considered  their  jests  in- 
sipid, their  tone  intolerable,  their  every  movement 
artificial ;  in  the  very  softness  of  their  speech  his 
ear  detected  scorn  which  revolted  him— and  yet 
he  seemed  to  have  grown  timid  in  their  presence 
—in  the  presence  of  those  people,  those  enemies. . . 
"  Faugh,  how  disgusting!  I  embarrass  them,  I 
seem  ridiculous  to  them,"  kept  whirling  through 
his  brain:—"  and  why  do  I  remain  here?  Let  me 

109 


SMOKE 

go,  let  me  go  at  once!"  Irma's  presence  could 
not  detain  him :  she  also  aroused  melancholy  emo- 
tions in  him.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  began 
to  take  leave. 

"  Are  you  going  already? "  said  Irina,  but 
after  a  little  reflection  she  ceased  to  insist,  and 
merely  made  him  promise  that  he  would  not  fail 
to  call  on  her.  General  Ratmiroff,  with  the  same 
refined  courtesy  as  before,  took  leave  of  him,  shook 
hands  with  him,  and  escorted  him  to  the  edge  of 
the  platform.  .  .  But  Litvinoff  had  barely  passed 
round  the  first  turn  in  the  road,  when  a  hearty 
burst  of  laughter  rang  out  behind  him.  This 
laughter  did  not  refer  to  him,  but  to  the  long- 
expected  Monsieur  Verdier,  who  suddenly  made 
his  appearance  on  the  platform,  in  a  Tyrolean 
hat,  a  blue  blouse,  and  mounted  astride  of  an  ass ; 
but  the  blood  fairly  rushed  to  Litvinoff's  cheeks, 
and  he  felt  bitter,  as  though  wormwood  had  glued 
his  tightly -compressed  lips  together.  '  The  de- 
spicable, vulgar  creatures!  "  he  muttered,  without 
taking  into  consideration  that  the  few  moments 
spent  in  company  of  those  people  had  not  fur- 
nished him  any  cause  to  express  himself  so 
harshly.  And  Irina,  the  Irina  who  had  once  been 
his,  had  got  into  that  set!  She  moved  in  it,  lived 
in  it,  reigned  in  it,  for  it  she  had  sacrificed  her 
own  dignity,  the  best  sentiments  of  her  heart.  .  . 
Evidently,  all  was  as  it  should  be;  evidently,  she 
deserved  no  better  fate!  How  glad  he  was  that 

110 


SMOKE 

it  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  question  him  as  to  his 
intentions !  He  would  have  been  obliged  to  state 
them  before  "  them,"  in  "  their "  presence.  .  . 
"  Not  for  any  consideration!  Never!"  whispered 
Litvmoff,  inhaling  a  deep  breath  of  the  fresh  air, 
and  descending  the  path  to  Baden  almost  at  a 
run.  He  thought  of  his  affianced  bride,  of  his 
dear,  good,  holy  Tanya,  and  how  pure,  how  noble, 
how  upright,  she  appeared  to  him!  With  what 
genuine  emotion  he  recalled  her  features,  her 
words,  even  her  habits  .  .  .  with  what  impatience 
did  he  await  her  return! 

His  rapid  pace  calmed  his  nerves.  On  reach- 
ing home  he  seated  himself  at  the  table,  took  a 
book  in  his  hand,  and  suddenly  threw  it  down, 
and  even  shuddered.  .  What  had  happened  to 
him?  Nothing  had  happened  to  him,  but  Irina 
.  .  .  Irina  ...  his  encounter  with  her  suddenly 
struck  him  as  surprising,  strange,  unusual.  Was 
it  possible  he  had  met,  had  talked  with  that  same 
Irina?  .  .  .  And  why  did  not  that  repulsive, 
worldly  stamp,  wherewith  all  the  others  were  so 
plainly  marked,  lie  upon  her  also?  Why  did  it 
seem  to  him  that  she  was  bored,  or  grieved,  or 
oppressed  by  her  position?  She  was  in  their 
camp,  but  she  was  not  an  enemy.  And  what 
could  have  made  her  treat  him  with  such  cordial- 
ity, ask  him  to  come  to  her? 

Litvmoff  gave  a  start.—"  Oh  Tanya,  Tanya!  " 
he  exclaimed  impulsively:—  "  thou  art  my  angel, 

111 


SMOKE 

my  good  genius— I  love  thee  alone  and  will  al- 
ways love  thee.    And  I  will  not  go  to  that  woman. 
I  will  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  herl    Let 
her  amuse  herself  with  her  generals  1" 
Litvinoff  again  took  up  a  book. 


XI 

LITVINOFF  took  up  a  book,  but  he  could  not 
read.  He  left  the  house,  strolled  about  a  little, 
listened  to  the  music,  stared  a  while  at  the  gam- 
ing, and  again  returned  to  his  room— again  made 
an  attempt  to  read— still  without  success.  Time, 
for  some  reason,  dragged  on  with  particular  slow- 
ness. Pishtchalkin,  the  well-meaning  arbitrator 
of  the  peace,  came  in,  and  sat  there  for  about  three 
hours.  He  conversed,  explained,  put  questions, 
argued  in  the  intervals— now  on  lofty  themes, 
now  on  useful  ones,  and  at  last  diffused  such 
tedium  that  poor  Litvinoff  almost  set  up  a  howl. 
In  the  art  of  inspiring  tedium,  melancholy,  cold, 
helpless,  hopeless  tedium,  Pishtchalkin  had  no 
rival,  even  among  the  people  of  the  loftiest  moral- 
ity, who  are  well-known  masters  in  that  line.  The 
mere  sight  of  his  closely-clipped,  smoothly- 
brushed  head,  of  his  light,  lifeless  eyes,  his  well- 
formed  nose,  inspired  involuntary  despondency, 
and  his  slow,  baritone,  apparently  slumbering 
voice,  seemed  to  have  been  created  for  the  purpose 
of  uttering,  with  conviction  and  perspicuity, 
apophthegms  to  the  effect  that  two  and  two  make 
four,  and  not  five,  and  not  three;  that  water  is 
wet,  and  that  virtue  is  laudable;  that  a  private 

113 


SMOKE 

person,  equally  with  an  empire,  and  an  empire, 
equally  with  a  private  person,  must  have  credit 
for  financial  operations.  And  withal,  he  was  a 
most  excellent  man !  But  such  is  the  fate  decreed 
to  Russia:  our  most  excellent  people  are  tire- 
some. Pishtchalkin  withdrew ;  Bindasoff  took  his 
place,  and  slowly,  with  immense  impudence,  de- 
manded that  Litvinoff  should  lend  him  one  hun- 
dred guldens,  which  the  latter  gave  him,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  not  only  took  no  interest  in 
Bindasoff,  but  even  loathed  him,  and  knew  for 
a  certainty  that  he  would  never  get  his  money 
back  again ;  moreover,  he  needed  it  himself.  Then 
why  did  he  give  it  to  him?  the  reader  asks.  The 
devil  knows  why !  The  Russians  are  great  fellows 
at  that.  Let  the  reader  lay  his  hand  on  his  heart 
and  recall  how  many  acts  in 'his  own  life  have 
had,  positively,  no  other  cause.  But  Bindasoff 
did  not  even  thank  Litvinoff:  he  demanded  a 
glass  of  Affenthaler  (the  red  wine  of  Baden)  and 
went  away,  without  wiping  his  lips,  and  with  a 
rude  clumping  of  his  boots.  And  how  angry  Lit- 
vinoff was  with  himself,  as  he  gazed  at  the  red 
neck  of  the  departing  monopolist!  Just  before 
evening  he  received  a  letter  from  Tanya,  in  which 
she  informed  him  that  in  consequence  of  her 
aunt's  illness  she  could  not  reach  Baden  in  less 
than  five  or  six  days.  This  news  produced  an  un- 
pleasant effect  on  Litvinoff:  it  aggravated  his 
vexation,  and  he  went  to  bed  early  in  an  evil 

114 


SMOKE 

frame  of  mind.     The  following  day  turned  out 
no  better  than  the  preceding,  worse,  if  anything. 
From  early  morning  Litvinoff 's  room  was  filled 
with  his  fellow-countrymen :  Bambaeff,  Voroshi- 
lofT,  Pishtchalkin,  the  two  officers,  the  two  Hei- 
delberg students,  all  thronged  in  at  once,  and 
never  took  their  departure  until  almost  dinner- 
time, although  they  speedily  talked  themselves 
out,   and  were  evidently  bored.     They  simply 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  themselves,  and 
having  once  got  into  Litvfnoff's  quarters,  they 
"  stuck  "  there,  as  the  expression  is.    At  first  they 
discussed  the  fact  that  GubaryofF  had  gone  back 
to  Heidelberg,  and  that  they  must  betake  them- 
selves to  him;  then  they  philosophised  a  little, 
touched  on  the  Polish  question;  then  they  pro- 
ceeded to  argue  about  gambling,  courtesans,  be- 
gan to  narrate  scandalous  anecdotes;  at  last  a 
conversation  arose  about  strong  men,  fat  men, 
and  gluttons.     Ancient  anecdotes  were  dragged 
out  into  the  light  of  day,  about  Lukin,  about  the 
deacon  who  devoured,  on  a  wager,  thirty-three 
herrings,  about  the  colonel  of  Uhlans,  Izyedinoff, 
well  known  for  his  obesity,  about  the  soldier  who 
broke  a  beef -bone  over  his  own  forehead ;  and  then 
came  downright  lies.     Pishtchalkin  himself  nar- 
rated, with  a  yawn,  that  he  knew  a  peasant  woman 
in  Little  Russia,   who,   at  her  death,   weighed 
twenty-seven  puds  1  and  several  pounds,  and  a 

lA   jnid   is   thirty-six   pounds.— TBAHSLATOE. 

115 


SMOKE 

landed  proprietor,  who  had  devoured  three  geese 
and  a  sturgeon  for  breakfast.  Bambaeff  sud- 
denly went  into  raptures,  and  declared  that  he 
himself  was  in  a  condition  to  eat  a  whole  sheep, 
"  of  course,  with  condiments,"  while  Voroshfloff 
rashly  made  such  an  absurd  remark  about  his 
comrade,  the  muscular  cadet,  that  all  became 
silent,  remained  silent,  stared  at  one  another, 
took  their  hats,  and  dispersed.  When  he  was 
left  alone,  LitvinofF  tried  to  occupy  himself 
with  some  work,  but  it  seemed  exactly  as  though 
soot  had  got  into  his  head;  he  could  do  nothing 
of  value,  and  the  evening  also  was  wasted.  On 
the  following  morning,  as  he  was  preparing  to 
breakfast,  some  one  knocked  at  his  door.  "  O 
Lord!"— said  LitvinofF  to  himself,— "  there 's 
some  one  of  those  friends  of , yesterday  again," 
and  not  without  considerable  shuddering,  he 
called  out : 

"Herein!" 

The  door  opened  very  softly,  and  Potugin  en- 
tered the  room. 

LitvinofF  was  extremely  glad  to  see  him. 

"This  is  delightful!"  he  exclaimed,  warmly 
pressing  the  hand  of  his  unexpected  guest:— 
"thank  you!  I  should  certainly  have  called  on 
you,  but  you  would  not  tell  me  where  you  live. 
Sit  down,  please,  lay  aside  your  hat.  Sit  down,  I 
say!" 

Potugin  made  no  reply  to  Litvmoff's  friendly 
116 


SMOKE 

speeches,  but  stood  shifting  from  foot  to  foot  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  merely  laughed  and 
rocked  his  head.  Litvinoff's  joyous  reception 
evidently  touched  him,  but  there  was  something 
constrained  in  the  expression  of  his  face. 

'  There  .  .  is  a  little  misunderstanding  here 
.  .  ."  he  began,  not  without  hesitation.—"  Of 
course  I  am  always  pleased  .  .  .  but,  to  tell  the 
truth  .  .  I  have  been  sent  to  you." 

'*  That  is,  you  mean  to  say,"  remarked  Litvi- 
noff  in  a  mournful  tone,—"  that  you  would  not 
have  come  to  me  of  your  own  accord?  " 

"  O,  no,  good  gracious!  .  .  .  But  I  .  .  I— per- 
haps I  should  not  have  made  up  my  mind  to  in- 
trude upon  you  to-day,  if  I  had  not  been  re- 
quested to  call  on  you.  In  short,  I  have  a  message 
for  you." 

"  From  whom,  permit  me  to  inquire?  " 

"  From  a  person  of  your  acquaintance:  from 
Irina  Pavlovna  Ratmiroff .  Two  days  ago  you 
promised  to  call  upon  her,  and  you  have  not 
done  so." 

Litvinoff  fixed  his  eyes  in  amazement  upon 
Potugin. 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  Madame  Ratmi- 
roff?" 

"  As  you  see." 

"  And  do  you  know  her  intimately?  " 

"  I  am  her  friend,  to  a  certain  degree." 

Litvinoff  said  nothing. 
117 


SMOKE 

"Allow  me  to  ask  you,"  he  began  at  last:  — 
"  do  you  know  why  Irina  Pavlovna  wishes  to 
see  me? " 

Potugin  walked  to  the  window. 

'  Yes,  to  a  certain  extent  I  do  know.  So  far 
as  I  am  able  to  judge,  she  was  greatly  delighted 
at  her  meeting  with  you, — well,  and  so  she  wishes 
to  renew  your  former  relations." 

"  Renew!  "  repeated  Litvinoff.— "  Excuse  my 
indiscretion,  but  permit  me  to  ask  you  still  an- 
other question.  Do  you  know  the  nature  of  those 
relations? " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,— no,  I  do  not.  But  I  as- 
sume," added  Potugin,  suddenly  turning  to  Lit- 
vinoff, and  gazing  at  him  in  a  friendly  way:—  "  I 
assume  that  they  were  of  a  good  sort.  Irina  Pav- 
lovna praised  you  highly,  and  I  had  to  give 
her  my  word  that  I  would  bring  you.  You  will 
go?" 

"  When? " 

"  Now  .  .  .  immediately." 

Litvinoff  merely  flung  out  his  hands  with  a 
gesture  of  surprise. 

"  Irina  Pavlovna,"  went  on  Potiigin,—  "  takes 
it  for  granted  that  that  .  .  .  how  shall  I  express 
it  ...  that  set  of  people,  let  us  say,  in  which  you 
found  her  two  days  before  yesterday,  could  not 
have  aroused  any  special  sympathy  in  you;  but 
she  has  commanded  me  to  say  that  the  devil  is  not 
as  black  as  he  is  painted." 

118 


SMOKE 

"  H'm Is  that  expression  applied  pre- 
cisely to  that  .  .  .  .  set? " 
'  Yes  .  .  and  in  general." 

"H'm  .  .  .  Well,  and  what  is  your  own  opin- 
ion about  the  devil,  Sozont  Ivanitch?  " 

"  I  think,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  that,  in  any 
case,  he  is  not  what  he  is  represented  to  be." 

"  Is  he  better?  " 

'  Whether  he  is  better  or  worse  it  is  difficult 
to  decide,  but  he  is  not  as  represented.  Well,  how 
is  it  to  be?  Shall  we  go?" 

'  You  sit  here  a  while  first.  I  must  confess, 
that  it  strikes  me  as  rather  strange.  ." 

'  What  does,  if  I  may  presume  to  inquire? " 

"  How  have  you — you  in  particular — been  able 
to  become  the  friend  of  Irina  Pavlovna?  " 

Potugin  surveyed  himself  with  a  glance. 
'  With  my  figure  and  my  position  in  society, 
it  really  does  seem  incredible;  but  you  know- 
Shakespeare  said : '  There  are  many  things,  friend 
Horatio,'  and  so  forth.  Life  also  does  not  like 
to  jest.  Here  's  a  comparison  for  you :  a  tree 
stands  before  you,  and  there  is  no  wind ;  how  can 
a  leaf  on  the  lowest  bough  touch  a  leaf  on  the 
highest  bough?  In  no  way  whatever.  But  let  a 
storm  arise,  and  everything  gets  mixed  up— and 
those  two  leaves  come  into  contact." 

"Aha!  That  means  that  there  has  been  a 
storm?  " 

"  I  should  think  so!    Can  one  get  along  in  life 
119 


SMOKE 

without  storms?  But  away  with  philosophy.  It 
is  time  to  go." 

But  Litvinoff  still  hesitated. 

"O  Lord!"  exclaimed  Potiigin,  with  a  com- 
ical grimace:—"  how  queer  the  young  men  have 
become  nowadays!  The  most  charming  of 
women  invites  them  to  her,  sends  a  messenger 
after  them,  a  special  messenger,  and  they  stand 
on  ceremony !  Shame  on  you,  my  dear  sir,  shame 
on  you!  Here  's  your  hat.  Take  it,  and  '  vor- 
warts! '  as  our  friends  the  ardent  Germans  say." 

Litvinoff  still  stood  for  a  space  in  thought,  but 
ended  by  taking  his  hat,  and  sallying  forth  from 
his  chamber  with  Potugin. 


XII 

THEY  came  to  one  of  the  best  hotels  in  Baden,  and 
asked  for  Madame  Ratmiroff .  The  hall-porter 
first  inquired  their  names,  then  immediately  re- 
plied, <e  die  Frau  Fiirstin  ist  zu  House"  and  him- 
self conducted  them  up  the  stairs,  knocked  on  the 
door  of  the  room  with  his  own  hand,  and  an- 
nounced them.  "Die  Frau  Fiirstin"  received 
them  at  once;  she  was  alone:  her  husband  had 
gone  off  to  Karlsruhe  to  meet  an  official  big-wig, 
one  of  "the  influential  personages, "who  was  pass- 
ing through.  Irina  was  seated  beside  a  small 
table  and  embroidering  on  canvas  when  Potiigin 
and  Litvfnoff  crossed  the  threshold.  She  hastily 
threw  aside  her  sewing,  pushed  the  table  away,  and 
rose;  an  expression  of  unfeigned  satisfaction 
spread  over  her  face.  She  wore  a  morning  gown, 
closed  to  the  throat ;  the  beautiful  outlines  of  her 
shoulders  and  arms  were  visible  through  the  thin 
material;  her  carelessly  twisted  hair  had  become 
loosened,  and  fell  low  on  her  slender  neck.  Irina 
cast  a  swift  glance  at  Potiigin,  whispered 
"merci"  and  offered  her  hand  to  LitvinofF,  amia- 
bly reproaching  him  for  his  forgetfulness.  "  And 
an  old  friend  at  that,"  she  added. 

121 


SMOKE 

LitvmofF  began  to  make  excuses.  "  C'est  bien, 
cest  bien"  she  said  hastily,  and  taking  his  hat 
from  him  with  gracious  force,  she  made  him  sit 
down.  Potugin  also  seated  himself,  but  imme- 
diately rose,  and  saying  that  he  had  business  which 
could  not  be  deferred,  and  that  he  would  drop  in 
after  dinner,  he  took  his  leave.  Irina  again  threw 
him  a  swift  glance  and  gave  him  a  friendly  nod, 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  disappeared  behind  the  por- 
tiere, she  turned  to  Litvinoff  with  impatient 
vivacity. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"  she  began  in  Rus- 
sian, in  her  soft  and  resonant  voice: — "  here  we 
are  alone  at  last,  and  I  can  say  to  you  that  I  am 
very  glad  of  our  meeting,  because  it  ...  it  af- 
fords me  the  opportunity  .  .  ."  (Irina  looked  him 
straight  in  the  face),  "to  ask, your  forgiveness." 

Litvinoff  involuntarily  shuddered.  He  had 
not  anticipated  such  a  rapid  attack.  He  had  not 
anticipated  that  she  herself  would  turn  the  con- 
versation on  bygone  days. 

"  For  what  .  .  forgiveness  ..."  he  stam- 
mered out. 

Irina  blushed. 

"  For  what?  .  .  you  know  for  what,"  she  said, 
and  turned  aside  a  little.—"  I  was  to  blame  to- 
ward you,  Grigory  Mikhailitch  .  .  although,  of 
course,  such  was  my  fate  "  (LitvinoiF  recalled  her 
letter) ,  "  and  I  do  not  regret  it  .  .  in  any  case, 
it  would  be  too  late;  but  when  I  met  you  so  un- 

122 


SMOKE 

expectedly,  I  said  to  myself  that  we  must  become 
friends  without  fail— without  fail  .  .  .  and  I 
should  have  felt  deeply  pained  if  it  had  not  suc- 
ceeded .  .  .  and  it  seems  to  me,  that  to  that  end, 
you  and  I  must  have  an  explanation  without 
delay,  and  once  for  all,  in  order  that  thereafter 
there  might  be  no  ...  gene,  no  awkwardness, 
—once  for  all,— Grigory  Mikhailovitch ;  and  that 
you  ought  to  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me, 
otherwise  I  shall  suspect  in  you  .  .  .  de  la  ran- 
cune.  Voila!  It  may  be  a  great  piece  of  assump- 
tion on  my  part,  because  you,  in  all  probability, 
have  long  ago  forgotten  everything,  but,  never- 
theless, do  tell  me  that  you  have  forgiven  me." 

Irma  uttered  this  entire  speech  without  taking 
breath,  and  Litvinoff  could  see  that  tears  glis- 
tened in  her  eyes  .  .  yes,  actually  tears. 

"Pray,  Irma  Pavlovna,"  he  hastily  began:— 
"  are  n't  you  ashamed  to  excuse  yourself,  to  ask 
forgiveness  .  .  it  is  an  affair  of  the  past,  it  has 
utterly  lapsed  out  of  existence,  and  I  can  but  feel 
surprised  that  you,  in  the  midst  of  the  splendour 
which  surrounds  you,  can  still  have  preserved  a 
memory  of  the  gloomy  companion  of  your  early 
youth.  .  ." 

"  Does  that  surprise  you?  "  said  Irina  softly. 

"It  touches  me,"  replied  Litvinoff :— "  be- 
cause I  could  not  possibly  imagine  ..." 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me  that  you  have 
forgiven  me,"  interrupted  Irma. 

123 


SMOKE 

"  I  rejoice  sincerely  in  your  happiness,  Irina 
Pavlovna;  with  all  my  soul  I  wish  you  the  very 
best  on  earth.  .  .  ." 

"  And  you  bear  no  ill-will?  " 

"  I  remember  only  those  fair  moments,  for 
which  I  was,  in  times  past,  indebted  to  you." 

Irina  extended  both  her  hands  to  him.  Litvi- 
noff  pressed  them  warmly,  and  did  not  imme- 
diately release  them.  ...  A  mysterious  some- 
thing which  had  long  ceased  to  exist  began  to  stir 
in  his  heart  at  that  soft  contact.  Again  Irina 
looked  him  straight  in  the  face;  but  this  time  he 
smiled. . .  And  for  the  first  time  he  gazed  directly 
and  intently  at  her.  .  .  Again  he  recognised  the 
features,  once  so  dear,  and  those  deep  eyes  with 
their  unusual  lashes,  and  the  little  mole  on  the 
cheek,  and  the  peculiar  sweep  of  the  hair  above 
the  brow,  and  her  habit  of  curling  her  lips  in  a 
certain  gracious  and  amusing  way,  and  of  im- 
parting to  her  eyebrows  the  suspicion  of  a  quiver, 
he  recognised  all,  all.  .  .  But  how  much  more 
beautiful  she  had  grown!  What  charm  and 
power  in  the  young  feminine  body!  And  there 
was  neither  red  paint,  nor  white,  nor  blackening 
for  the  eyebrows,  nor  powder,  nor  any  sort  of 
artificiality  on  the  fresh,  pure  face.  .  .  Yes,  she 
was  a  real  beauty ! 

A  meditative  mood  took  possession  of  Litvi- 
noff.  .  .  .  He  continued  to  gaze  at  her,  but  his 
thoughts  were  already  far  away.  .  .  Irina  ob- 
served this. 

124 


SMOKE 

'Well,    that's    capital,"    she    said    aloud:— 
4  Well,  now  my  conscience  is  at  ease,  and  I  can 
satisfy  my  curiosity.  .  .  ." 

"  Curiosity,"  repeated  Litvinoff,  as  though  in 
perplexity. 

'  Yes,  yes.  .  .  I  insist  upon  knowing  what  you 
have  been  doing  all  this  time,  what  your  plans 
are;  I  want  to  know  everything  just  the  same  as 
when  .  .  .  everything,  everything  .  .  .  and  you 
must  tell  me  the  truth,  because,  I  warn  you,  that 
I  have  not  lost  sight  of  you  ...  so  far  as  that 
has  been  possible.  .  ." 

'  You  have  not  lost  sight  of  me,  you  .  .  .  there 
.  .  in  Petersburg? " 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  splendour  which  sur- 
rounds me,  as  you  just  expressed  it.  Yes,  ex- 
actly that ;  I  have  not  lost  sight  of  you.  You  and 
I  will  discuss  the  splendour  later  on ;  but  now  you 
must  narrate  to  me  a  great  deal,  narrate  at 
length;  no  one  will  disturb  us.  Akh,  how  splen- 
did that  will  be!"  added  Irina,  merrily,  seating 
herself  in  an  arm-chair  and  putting  on  a  pretty 
air.—"  Come,  now,  begin." 

"  Before  I  tell  my  story,  I  must  thank  you," 
began  Litvinoff. 

"  What  for? " 

"  For  the  bouquet  of  flowers  which  made  its 
appearance  in  my  chamber." 

"  What  bouquet?    I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"What?" 

"  I  tell  you,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  .  .  But 
125 


SMOKE 

I  am  waiting  .  .  .  waiting  for  your  story.— Akh, 
what  a  clever  fellow  that  Potugin  is  to  have 
brought  you ! " 

Litvinoff  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  Have  you  been  acquainted  long  with  that  Mr. 
Potugin? "  he  inquired. 

'  Yes,  for  a  long  time  .  .  .  but  tell  your  story." 

"  And  do  you  know  him  intimately?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  "— Irfna  sighed.—  *  There  are  pecu- 
liar reasons  for  it.  .  .  You  have  heard  of  Eliza 
Byelsky,  of  course.  .  .  The  one  who  died  such  a 
frightful  death  last  year? — Akh,  yes,  I  had  for- 
gotten that  our  stories  are  not  known  to  you. 
Happily,  happily,  you  do  not  know  them.  Oh, 
quelle  chance!  at  last,  at  last,  there  is  one  man, 
a  live  man,  who  knows  none  of  our  affairs! 
And  one  can  talk  Russian  with  him,  bad 
Russian,  but  Russian  all  the  same,  and  not 
that  eternal,  affected,  repulsive  Petersburg 
French!" 

"  And  you  say  that  Potugin  had  some  connec- 
tion with  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  very  painful  to  me  to  recall  that,"  inter- 
posed Irina.—  "  Eliza  was  my  best  friend  at  the 
Institute,  and  afterward,  in  Petersburg,  we  saw 
each  other  constantly.  She  confided  to  me  all  her 
secrets :  she  was  very  unhappy,  she  suffered  much. 
Potugin  behaved  splendidly  in  that  affair,  like  a 
genuine  knight!  He  sacrificed  himself.  It  was 
only  then  that  I  prized  him  at  his  true  value !  But 

126 


SMOKE 

we  have  digressed  again.  I  am  waiting  for  your 
story,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch." 

"But  my  story  cannot  in  the  least  interest  you, 
Irina  Pavlovna." 

'  That  is  no  concern  of  yours." 

"  Remember,  Irina  Pavlovna,  we  have  not  met 
for  ten  years.  How  much  has  happened,— how 
much  water  has  flowed  past  since  then!  " 

"Not  water  only!  not  water  only!"  she  re- 
peated, with  a  peculiar,  bitter  expression: — "  and 
that  is  why  I  wish  to  hear  you.  .  ." 

"  And,  moreover,  I  really  cannot  think  where 
to  begin." 

"  At  the  beginning.  From  the  very  time  when 
you  .  .  .  when  I  went  away  to  Petersburg.  You 
then  remained  in  Moscow.  .  .  Do  you  know,  I 
have  never  been  back  to  Moscow  since  that 
day!" 

"Really?" 

"  At  first  it  was  not  possible,  and  afterward, 
when  I  married  ..." 

"  And  have  you  been  married  long?  " 

"  Three  years." 

'  You  have  no  children?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  drily. 

Litvinoff  fell  silent. 

"  And  until  your  marriage  you  lived  altogether 
with  that— what 's  his  name— Count  Reisen- 
bach? " 

Irina  contemplated  him  fixedly,  as  though  de- 

127 


SMOKE 

sirous  of  comprehending  why  he  asked  that  ques- 
tion. 

"  No  .  .  ."  she  said  at  last. 

"  Consequently,  your  parents.  .  .  By  the  way, 
I  have  not  asked  you  about  them.  How  are 
they?  .  .  ." 

"  They  are  both  well." 

"  And  they  live  in  Moscow  as  formerly? " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  your  brothers  and  sisters?  " 

"  All  is  well  with  them ;  I  have  provided  for 
them  all." 

"  Ah!  " — Litvinoff  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at 
Irma. — "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it 
is  not  I  who  ought  to  relate  the  story,  but  you, 
if  only  .  .  ." 

He  suddenly  caught  himself  up,  and  stopped 
speaking. 

Irina  raised  her  hands  to  her  face,  and  began  to 
twist  her  wedding  ring  round  on  her  finger. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  I  do  not  refuse,"  she 
said  at  last.—"  Some  time,  if  you  like.  .  .  But 
it  is  your  turn  first  .  .  because,  you  see,  I 
have  kept  watch  over  you,  yet  I  know  almost 
nothing  about  you;  but  about  me  .  .  .  well, 
about  me,  you  surely  must  have  heard  a  good 
deal.  Is  n't  that  true  ?  Tell  me,  you  have  heard 
things?" 

'  You  have  occupied  too  prominent  a  place  in 
the  world,  Irina  Pavlovna,  not  to  start  rumours 

128 


SMOKE 

.  .  .  especially  in  the  country  districts  where  I 
was,  and  where  every  rumour  is  believed." 

"And  you  believed  those  rumours?  And  of 
what  sort  were  they?  " 

"  I  must  confess,  Irina  Pavlovna,  that  those 
rumours  very  rarely  reached  my  ears.  I  led  an 
extremely  isolated  life." 

"  How  so?  Were  not  you  in  the  Crimea,  in 
the  militia?" 

"  And  is  that  known  to  you?  " 

"  As  you  see.  I  tell  you  that  you  were 
watched." 

Again  Litvinoif  was  forced  to  wonder. 

'*  Why  should  I  tell  you  what  is  already  known 
to  you  without  that? "  said  Litvinoff,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Because  .  .  because  .  .  in  order  to  comply 
with  my  request.  I  entreat  you,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailovitch." 

Litvinoff  inclined  his  head,  and  began  .  .  .  be- 
gan rather  confusedly,  in  general  outlines,  to 
communicate  to  Irina  his  far  from  complicated 
adventures.  He  paused  frequently,  and  cast  an  in- 
quiring glance  at  Irina,  as  much  as  to  say:  "  Is  n't 
this  enough  ?  "  But  she  insistently  demanded  that 
he  should  continue  his  narration,  and  pushing  her 
hair  back  behind  her  ears,  and  resting  her  elbows 
on  the  arms  of  the  easy-chair,  seemed  to  be  seizing 
every  word  with  strained  attention.  Any  one 
looking  at  her  from  a  distance,  and  watching  the 

129 


SMOKE 

expression  of  her  face,  might  have  thought  that 
she  was  not  listening  to  what  Litvinoff  was  tell- 
ing her,  but  was  merely  immersed  in  meditation. 
.  .  But  she  was  not  meditating  upon  Litvinoff , 
although  he  became  embarrassed,  and  flushed 
crimson  beneath  her  persistent  gaze.  Before  her 
had  started  forth  a  whole  life,  another  life,  not 
his — her  own  life. 

Litvinoff  did  not  finish,  but  fell  silent,  under 
the  influence  of  a  disagreeable  sensation  of  con- 
stantly augmenting,  inward  discomfort.  This 
time  Irina  said  nothing  to  him,  did  not  ask  him 
to  continue,  and  pressing  her  palm  to  her  eyes, 
as  though  weary,  she  slowly  leaned  against  the 
back  of  her  chair  and  remained  motionless.  Lit- 
vinoff waited  a  while,  and  reflecting  that  his  visit 
had  already  lasted  more  than,  two  hours,  was  on 
the  point  of  extending  his  hand  to  take  his  hat, 
when  suddenly,  in  the  adjoining  room,  the  swift 
squeak  of  thin,  lacquered  boots  resounded,  and, 
preceded  by  that  same  odour  of  nobility  and  the 
Guards,  Valerian  Vladfmirovitch  Ratmiroff  en- 
tered the  room. 

Litvinoff  rose  from  his  chair,  and  exchanged 
a  bow  with  the  good-looking  general.  But  Irina, 
without  any  haste,  removed  her  hand  from  her 
face,  and  bestowing  a  cold  glance  upon  her  hus- 
band, remarked,  in  French : — "  Ah !  So  you  have 
returned!  But  what  time  is  it?  " 

"  It  is  almost  four  o'clock,  ma  chere  amiej  and 
130 


SMOKE 

you  are  not  yet  dressed— the  Princess  will  be  wait- 
ing for  us,"  replied  the  general,  and  with  an  ele- 
gant inclination  of  his  body  in  the  direction  of 
Litvinoff ,  with  the  almost  effeminate  playfulness 
in  his  voice  which  was  peculiar  to  him,  he  added : 

"  Evidently,  your  amiable  guest  has  made  you 
forget  the  time." 

The  reader  will  permit  us  to  impart  to  him,  at 
this  point,  a  few  facts  concerning  General  Rat- 
mfroff.  His  father  was  the  natural  .  .  .  what 
do  you  think?  You  are  not  mistaken,  but  we  did 
not  wish  to  say  it  ...  the  natural  son  of  a  prom- 
inent grandee  of  the  times  of  Alexander  I.,  and 
of  a  pretty  little  French  actress.  The  grandee 
had  opened  a  career  for  his  son,  but  had  left  him 
no  property, — and  that  son  (the  father  of  our 
hero)  had  not  succeeded  in  becoming  rich  either: 
he  had  died  with  the  rank  of  colonel,  in  the  voca- 
tion of  chief  of  police.  A  year  before  his  death 
he  had  married  a  pretty  young  widow,  who  had 
been  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  his  protection. 
His  son  and  the  widow's,  Valerian  Vladimiro- 
vitch,  having  got  into  the  Pages  Corps  through 
influence,  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  au- 
thorities—not so  much  by  proficiency  in  his  stud- 
ies as  by  his  military  bearing,  his  good  manners, 
and  his  good  morals  (although  he  had  been  sub- 
jected to  everything,  which  all  former  pupils  of 
the  government  military  institutions  must  under- 
go),—and  had  graduated  into  the  Guards.  He 

131 


SMOKE 

had  made  a  brilliant  career,  thanks  to  the  modest 
gaiety  of  his  disposition,  his  skill  in  dancing,  his 
masterly  riding  as  orderly  officer  at  parades— 
mostly  on  other  people's  horses— and,  in  conclu- 
sion, to  a  special  art  of  familiarly-respectful  be- 
haviour toward  the  loftiest  personages,  a  mourn- 
fully-caressing, almost  forlorn,  obsequiousness, 
not  devoid  of  a  dash  of  liberalism,  light  as  down. 
.  .  This  liberalism  did  not  prevent  him,  neverthe- 
less, from  soundly  flogging  fifty  peasants  in  a 
revolted  White  Russian  village,  which  he  had  been 
sent  to  pacify.  He  was  the  possessor  of  an  at- 
tractive and  extremely  youthful  exterior ;  smooth, 
ruddy,  supple  and  adhesive:  he  enjoyed  remark- 
able success  with  the  women:  distinguished  old 
ladies  fairly  went  wild  over  him.  Cautious  by 
habit,  taciturn  through  calculation,  General  Rat- 
miroff,  like  the  industrious  bee,  which  extracts 
juice  even  from  wretched  flowers,  was  constantly 
circulating  in  the  highest  society— and,  devoid  of 
morality,  devoid  of  every  sort  of  knowledge,  but 
with  the  reputation  of  a  capable  man,  with  a  good 
scent  for  people,  and  comprehension  of  circum- 
stances, and  chief  of  all— with  an  inflexibly  firm 
desire  of  good  things  for  himself —he  at  last  saw 
all  roads  open  before  him.  .  . 

Litvinoff  smiled  in  a  constrained  way  and  Irina 
merely  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  in  the  same  cold  tone,—"  did 
you  see  the  Count?  " 

132 


"  Of  course  I  saw  him.  He  asked  to  be  remem- 
bered to  you." 

"  Ah!  Is  he  still  as  stupid  as  ever,  that  pro- 
tector of  yours? " 

General  Ratmiroff  made  no  reply,  and  only 
laughed  a  little  through  his  nose,  as  though  mak- 
ing allowance  for  the  precipitancy  of  woman's 
judgment.  Benevolent  adults  reply  to  the  absurd 
sallies  of  children  with  precisely  that  sort  of  a 
laugh. 

'  Yes,"  added  Irina:— "  the  stupidity  of  your 
Count  is  too  astounding,  and  it  strikes  me  that  I 
have  had  plenty  of  opportunity  to  observe  it." 

"  It  was  you  yourself  who  sent  me  to  him,"  re- 
marked the  general,  through  his  teeth,  and  turn- 
ing to  Litvmoff,  he  asked  him,  in  Russian:— 
"  Was  he  undergoing  a  cure  of  the  Baden 
waters? " 

"  I  am  well,  thank  God,"  replied  Litvmoff. 

"  That 's  the  best  thing  of  all,"  went  on  the 
general,  with  an  amiable  grin:— "yes,  and  in 
general,  people  do  not  come  to  Baden  for  the  sake 
of  taking  the  cure;  but  the  waters  here  are  very 
efficacious,  je  veux  dire,  efficaces;  and  for  any  one 
who,  like  myself,  for  instance,  is  suffering  from 
a  nervous  cough.  ..." 

Irina  rose  in  haste.— "We  shall  meet  again, 
Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  and  that  soon,  I  hope,"— 
she  said  in  French,  scornfully  interrupting  her 
husband's  speech:— "but  now  I  must  go  and 

133 


SMOKE 

dress.  That  old  Princess  is  insufferable  with  her 
eternal  parties  de  plaisirf  where  there  is  nothing 
but  tedium." 

'  You  are  very  severe  on  everything  to-day," 
muttered  her  husband,  and  slipped  into  the  other 
room. 

LitvinofF  went  toward  the  door. 
'  You  have  told  me  everything,"  she  said,  "  but 
you  have  concealed  the  principal  thing." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  It  is  said  that  you  are  going  to  marry?  " 

Litvinoff  crimsoned  to  his  very  ears.  .  .  In 
fact,  he  had  deliberately  refrained  from  mention- 
ing Tanya;  but  he  felt  frightfully  vexed,  in  the 
first  place,  because  Irina  knew  about  his  mar- 
riage, and  in  the  second,  because  she  had  caught 
him,  as  it  were,  in  a  desire  to  hide  the  marriage 
from  her.  Decidedly,  he  did  not  know  what  to 
say,  but  Irina  never  took  her  eyes  from  him. 

*  Yes,  I  am  about  to  marry,"  he  said  at  last, 
and  immediately  took  his  departure. 

RatmirofF  returned  to  the  room. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  get  dressed? "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Go  alone;  my  head  aches." 

"  But  the  Princess  .  .  ." 

Irina  measured  her  husband  with  a  glance  from 
head  to  foot,  turned  her  back  on  him,  and  went 
off  to  her  dressing-room. 


134 


XIII 

LITVINOFF  was  extremely  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self, as  though  he  had  lost  money  at  roulette,  or 
had  broken  his  pledged  word.  .  An  inward  voice 
told  him,  that  as  an  affianced  bridegroom,  as  a 
staid  grown  man,  and  no  longer  a  boy,  it  was  not 
proper  for  him  to  listen  to  the  instigations  of  curi- 
osity, nor  to  the  seductions  of  memory.  "  Much 
need  there  was  for  me  to  go!  "  he  argued.  "  On 
her  side  it  was  nothing  but  coquetry,  a  whim,  ca- 
price. .  She  is  bored,  she  has  grown  tired  of  every 
thing,  she  caught  at  me  ...  a  dainty  person 
sometimes  suddenly  longs  for  black  bread  .  .  . 
well,  and  that 's  all  right.  But  why  did  I  run  to 
her?  Could  I  .  .  help  despising  her?"  This 
last  word  he  did  not  utter,  even  mentally,  without 
an  effort.— "  Of  course,  there  is  no  danger  what- 
ever, and  there  can  be  none  ":  he  resumed  his  ar- 
gument. "  For  I  know  with  whom  I  have  to  deal. 
But,  nevertheless,  one  should  not  play  with  fire. 
.  .  I  won't  set  foot  in  her  house  again."  Litvi- 
noff  did  not  dare,  or  could  not  yet,  admit  to  him- 
self, to  what  a  degree  Irina  had  seemed  beautiful 
to  him,  and  how  powerfully  she  had  aroused  his 
emotion. 

135 


SMOKE 

Again  the  day  passed  in  a  dull  and  languid 
manner.  At  dinner  he  chanced  to  sit  beside  a  "  bel 
homme"  of  fine  bearing,  with  dyed  moustache, 
who  uttered  not  a  word,  but  merely  puffed  and 
opened  his  eyes  very  wide  .  .  .  but,  being  sud- 
denly seized  with  hiccough,  proved  to  be  a  fellow- 
countryman,  for  he  instantly  said  in  Russian: 
"  Did  n  't  I  say  that  I  ought  not  to  eat  melons!  " 
In  the  evening  also  nothing  cheering  happened: 
Bindasoff,  before  Litvinoff's  very  eyes,  won  a 
sum  four  times  as  large  as  the  one  he  had  bor- 
rowed from  him,  but  not  only  did  not  repay 
the  debt,  but  even  looked  him  in  the  face  with  a 
menacing  glance,  as  though  preparing  to  casti- 
gate him  even  more  painfully  for  having  been  a 
witness  of  his  winnings.  On  the  following  morn- 
ing the  horde  of  fellow-countrymen  descended 
upon  him  again ;  it  was  with  difficulty  that  Litvi- 
noff  got  rid  of  them,  and  betaking  himself  to  the 
mountains,  hit  upon  Irina  the  very  first  thing— 
he  pretended  that  he  did  not  recognise  her,  and 
passed  swiftly  by ; — then  on  Potugin.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  entering  into  conversation  with  Po- 
tugin, but  the  latter  answered  him  unwillingly. 
He  was  leading  by  the  hand  a  smartly  attired  lit- 
tle girl,  with  fluffy,  almost  white  locks,  great  dark 
eyes  in  a  pale,  sickly  little  face,  and  that  peculiar 
imperious,  impatient  expression,  which  is  charac- 
teristic of  spoiled  children.  Litvmoff  spent  a 
couple  of  hours  on  the  mountains,  and  then  re- 

136 


turned  home,  along  Lichtenthaler  Avenue.  .  .  . 
A  lady  with  a  blue  veil  over  her  face,  who  was 
sitting  on  a  bench,  hastily  rose  and  approached 
him.  .  .  He  recognised  Irina. 

'  Why  do  you  avoid  me,  Grigory  Mikhailo- 
vitch,"  she  said  in  an  unsteady  voice,  such  as  a 
person  uses  whose  heart  is  seething. 

Litvinoff  was  embarrassed.—"  Do  I  avoid  you, 
Irina  Pavlovna? " 

'  Yes,  you  .  .  .  you  .  .  .  ." 
Irina  seemed  agitated,  almost  incensed. 
*  You  are  mistaken,  I  assure  you." 
"  No,  I  am  not  mistaken.    Did  not  I  see  this 
morning— when  we  met,— did  not  I  see  that  you 
knew  me?    Tell  me,  didn't  you  recognise  me? 
TeU  me?  " 

"  I  really  .  .  Irina  Pavlovna  .  .  ." 
"  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  you  are  a  straight- 
forward man,  you  have  always  spoken  the  truth: 
tell  me— tell  me,  surely  you  recognised  me?  you 
turned  aside  deliberately." 

Litvinoff  glanced  at  Irina.  Her  eyes  shone 
with  a  strange  brilliancy,  but  her  lips  and  cheeks 
gleamed  with  a  death-like  pallor  through  the  close 
meshes  of  her  veil.  In  the  expression  of  her  face, 
in  the  very  sound  of  her  impetuous  whisper,  there 
was  something  so  irresistibly  mournful,  beseech- 
ing. .  .  .  Litvinoff  could  dissimulate  no  longer. 
"  Yes.  .  .  I  recognised  you,"  he  said,  not  with- 
out an  effort. 

137 


SMOKE 

Irma  shuddered  softly,  and  softly  dropped  her 
hands. 

"  Why  did  not  you  come  to  me? "  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Because  .  .  .  because!  "—Lit  vinofF  stepped 
aside  from  the  path.  Irina  silently  followed  him. 

'  Why?  "  he  repeated,  and  his  face  suddenly 
lighted  up,  and  a  feeling  akin  to  malice  oppressed 
his  chest  and  his  throat.—"  You  .  .  .  you  ask 
that,  after  all  that  has  taken  place  between  us? 
Not  now,  of  course,  not  now,  but  there  .  .  .  there 
...  in  Moscow." 

"  But  surely,  you  and  I  decided,  surely  you 
promised  .  .  ."  Irma  began. 

"  I  promised  nothing.  Pardon  the  harshness 
of  my  expressions,  but  you  demand  the  truth— 
therefore  judge  for  yourself:  to  what,  if  not  to 
coquetry, — which  is,  I  confess,  incomprehensible 
to  me, — to  what,  if  not  to  a  desire  to  try  how  much 
power  you  still  possess  over  me,  can  I  attribute 
your  .  .  I  do  not  know  what  to  call  it  ...  your 
persistence?  Our  paths  have  become  so  widely 
separated!  I  have  forgotten  everything,  I  have 
long  ago  lived  down  the  pain  of  it  all,  I  have  be- 
come an  entirely  different  man ;  you  are  married, 
happy,  in  appearance  at  least;  you  enjoy  an  en- 
viable position  in  society;  why  then,  to  what  end, 
a  renewal  of  acquaintance?  What  am  I  to  you, 
what  are  you  to  me?  We  cannot  understand  each 
other  now,  we  have  absolutely  nothing  in  common 

138 


now,  either  in  the  past  or  in  the  present !  Espe- 
cially .  .  .  especially  in  the  past!" 

Litvmoff  pronounced  the  whole  of  this  speech 
hurriedly,  abruptly,  without  turning  his  head. 
Irina  did  not  stir,  and  only  from  time  to  time, 
almost  imperceptibly,  extended  her  hands  toward 
him.  She  seemed  to  be  entreating  him  to  stop  and 
listen  to  her,  and  at  his  last  words  slightly  bit  her 
under  lip,  as  though  crushing  down  a  sentiment 
of  keen,  swift  injury. 

"  Grigory  Mikhaflovitch,"  she  began  at  last,  in 
a  more  composed  voice,  and  retreated  still  further 
from  the  path,  along  which,  now  and  then,  people 
passed.  .  . 

LitvmofF,  in  turn,  followed  her. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  believe  me:  if  I  could 
have  imagined  that  I  still  retained  an  atom  of 
power  over  you,  I  would  have  been  the  first  to 
avoid  you.  If  I  did  not  do  so,  if  I  made  up  my 
mind,  in  spite  of  ...  of  my  past  fault,  to  renew 
acquaintance  with  you,  it  was  because  .  .  .  be- 
cause .  .  ." 

"  Because? "  inquired  Litvinoff,  almost 
roughly. 

"Because,"  replied  Irfna,  with  sudden  force: 

"  because  that  society,  that  enviable  position  of 
which  you  speak,  have  become  unbearable,  insuf- 
ferable to  me;  because,  on  meeting  you,  a  live 
man,  after  all  those  dead  dolls— you  were  able  to 
view  specimens  of  them  three  days  ago  at  the 

139 


SMOKE 

Vieux  Chateau,— I  rejoiced  as  at  a  well  in  the 
desert,  but  you  call  me  a  coquette,  and  suspect 
me,  and  repulse  me  under  the  pretext  that  I  really 
was  to  blame  toward  you,  and  still  more  toward 
myself!" 

*  You  chose  your  own  destiny,  Irma  Pav- 
lovna,"  said  Litvinoff  surlily,  and  still  without 
turning  his  head. 

"  I  did,  I  did  .  .  .  and  I  do  not  complain ;  I 
have  no  right  to  complain,"  hastily  said  Irina,  to 
whom  Litvinoff's  very  sternness  afforded  secret 
delight; — "  I  know  that  you  must  condemn  me, 
and  I  do  not  defend  myself;  I  only  wish  to  ex- 
plain to  you  my  sentiment,  I  wish  to  convince  you 
that  I  am  not  disposed  to  coquet  now.  .  I  coquet 
with  you!  Why,  there  is  no  sense  in  that!  .  .  . 
When  I  saw  you,  all  that  was  good,  all  that  was 
young  in  me,  awoke  .  .  .  the  time  when  I  had 
not  yet  chosen  my  destiny,  everything  which  lies 
there  in  that  bright  zone,  beyond  those  ten 
years.  ..." 

"  But  permit  me,  at  last,  Irma  Pavlovna!  So 
far  as  I  am  aware,  the  bright  zone  in  your  life 
began  precisely  with  the  moment  of  our 
parting.  .  ." 

Irina  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips. 

'  What  you  say  is  very  cruel,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailovitch;  but  I  cannot  be  angry  with  you.  Oh, 
no,  that  was  not  a  brilliant  time;  it  was  not  for 
my  happiness  that  I  quitted  Moscow.  Not  one  in- 

140 


SMOKE 

slant,  not  one  minute  of  happiness  have  I  known 
.  .  .  believe  me,  whatever  you  may  have  been  told. 
If  I  had  been  happy,  could  I  talk  with  you  as  I 
am  doing  now?  .  .  I  repeat  it,  you  do  not  know 
what  those  people  are  like.  .  Why,  they  under- 
stand nothing,  sympathise  with  nothing,  they 
have  not  even  any  minds,  ni  esprit,,  ni  intelligence, 
but  only  cunning  and  tact ;  why,  in  reality,  music, 
poetry,  and  art  are  alike  unknown  to  them.  .  . 
You  will  say  that  I  myself  was  fairly  indifferent 
to  all  this;  but  not  to  that  degree,  Grigory  Mi- 
khailovitch  .  .  .  not  to  that  degree!  It  is  not  a 
fashionable  woman  whom  you  now  see  before 
you.  You  have  only  to  look  at  me,  not  a  lioness 
...  it  seems  that  is  what  we  are  called  .  .  .  but 
a  poor,  poor  creature,  who  is  really  deserving  of 
compassion.  Be  not  astonished  at  my  words.  .  . 
I  am  not  disposed  to  be  proud  now!  I  reach  out 
my  hand  to  you  as  a  beggar,  understand  it,  at 
last,  as  a  beggar.  .  .  I  entreat  alms,"  she  added 
suddenly,  in  an  involuntary,  irrepressible  im- 
pulse:—" I  ask  for  alms,  and  you  .  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  failed  her.  Litvinoff  raised  his  head 
and  looked  at  Irma;  she  was  breathing  rapidly, 
her  lips  were  quivering.  His  heart  suddenly  be- 
gan to  beat  hard,  and  his  feeling  of  wrath  van- 
ished. 

"  You  say  that  our  paths  have  parted,"  re- 
sumed Irma:— "I  know  you  are  marrying  for 
love;  you  have  the  plan  for  your  whole  life  al- 


SMOKE 

ready  drawn  up ;  yes,  it  is  so ;  but  we  have  not  be- 
come strangers  to  each  other,  Grigory  Mikhailo- 
vitch,  we  can  still  understand  each  other.  Or  do 
you  suppose  that  I  have  become  utterly  stupid— 
that  I  have  become  utterly  mired  in  this  swamp? 
Akh,  no,  do  not  think  that,  please!  Let  me  ease 
my  soul,  I  beg  of  you,  if  only  in  the  name  of  those 
by-gone  days,  if  you  are  not  bent  on  forgetting 
them.  Let  not  our  meeting  have  been  in  vain; 
that  would  be  too  bitter,  and  it  will  not  last  long, 
in  any  case.  .  .  I  do  not  know  how  to  express 
myself  as  I  should ;  but  do  understand  me,  for  I 
ask  little,  very  little  .  .  .  only  a  trifle  of  happi- 
ness, only  that  you  will  not  repulse  me,  that  you 
will  give  me  a  chance  to  ease  my  soul.  .  ." 

Irina  paused,  tears  resounded  in  her  voice.  She 
sighed  and  gazed  at  Litvmoff  with  a  timid,  rather 
sidelong,  searching  glance,  and  offered  him  her 
hand.  .  . 

Litvinoff  slowly  took  that  hand,  and  faintly 
pressed  it. 

"  Let  us  be  friends,"  whispered  Irina. 

"  Friends,"  repeated  Litvinoff  thoughtfully. 
'  Yes,  friends  .  .  .  but  if  that  is  too  great  a 
demand,  then  let  us  be,  at  least,  good  acquain- 
tances. .  .  Let  us  not  stand  on  ceremony — just 
as  though  nothing  had  ever  happened.  ..." 

"  As  though  nothing  had  ever  happened  .  ." 
repeated  Litvmoff  again. — "  You  just  told  me, 
Irina  Pavlovna,  that  I  am  not  willing  to  forget 

142 


SMOKE 

by-gone  days. .  Well,  and  what  if  I  cannot  forget 
them?" 

A  blissful  smile  flashed  across  Irma's  face,  and 
instantly  vanished,  making  way  for  an  anxious, 
almost  terrified  expression. 

"  Do  as  I  do,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch :  remem- 
ber only  what  is  pleasant;  but,  above  all,  give  me 
your  word  now,  your  word  of  honour.  .  ." 

"  What  about? " 

"  Not  to  avoid  me  .  .  .  not  to  grieve  me  need- 
lessly. .  .  Do  you  promise?  tell  me!  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  banish  all  evil  thoughts  from 
your  mind? " 

'  Yes  .  .  .  but  I  still  renounce  the  effort  to 
understand  you." 

*  That  is  not  necessary  .  .  wait,  however,  and 
you  will  understand  me.  But  you  promise?  " 

"  I  have  already  said:  Yes." 

"  Thanks.  Observe  that  I  have  become  accus- 
tomed to  believe  you.  I  shall  expect  you  to-day 
or  to-morrow;  I  shall  not  leave  the  house.  But 
now  I  must  leave  you.  The  Duehess  is  walking 
in  the  avenue.  .  .  She  has  seen  me,  and  I  cannot 
avoid  going  to  her.  .  .  Until  we  meet  again.  .  . 
Give  me  your  hand,  vite,  vite.  .  Farewell  for  the 
present." 

And  with  a  vigorous  clasp  of  Litvinoff  's  hand, 
Irina  directed  her  steps  toward  a  middle-aged 
person  who  was  walking  heavily  along  the  sanded 

143 


SMOKE 

path,  accompanied  by  two  other  ladies  and  a  very 
good-looking  lackey. 

"Eh,  loon  jour,  chere  madame,"  said  this  per- 
son, while  Irina  respectfully  courtesied  before 
her.—  "  Comment  allez-vous  aujourd'hui?  Venez 
un  pen  avec  moi."-  "  Votre  Altesse  a  trop  de 
bonte"  Irina's  insinuating  voice  could  be  heard 
in  reply. 


144 


XIV 

LITVINOFF  allowed  the  Duchess  and  all  her  suite 
to  depart,  and  then  emerged  upon  the  avenue 
himself.  He  could  not  give  himself  a  clear  ac- 
count of  his  sensations ;  he  felt  both  ashamed  and 
alarmed,  and  his  self-love  was  flattered.  .  .  The 
unexpected  explanation  with  Irina  had  taken  him 
unawares ;  her  burning,  hurried  words  had  swept 
over  him  like  a  downpour  of  rain.  "  Queer  peo- 
ple those  society  women,"  he  thought;—"  there  's 
no  coherence  about  them  .  .  .  and  how  the  circle 
in  which  they  live  perverts  them,  and  the  anoma- 
lousness  of  it  they  feel  themselves ! "  .  .  .  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  think  that  at  all,  but 
was  merely  repeating  mechanically  those  hack- 
neyed phrases,  as  though  desirous  thereby  of  rid- 
ding himself  of  other  and  more  painful  thoughts. 
He  comprehended  that  it  ill-befitted  him  to  medi- 
tate seriously  at  present,  that,  in  all  probability, 
he  would  be  obliged  to  censure  himself:  and  he 
strolled  slowly  along,  almost  compelling  himself 
to  turn  his  attention  to  everything  which  he  en- 
countered. .  .  All  at  once  he  found  himself  in 
front  of  a  bench,  perceived  beside  it  some  one's 
legs,  ran  his  eyes  up  them.  .  .  The  legs  belonged 

145 


SMOKE 

to  a  man  who  was  sitting  on  the  bench  and  read- 
ing a  newspaper;  the  man  proved  to  be  Potugin. 
Litvinoff  gave  vent  to  a  slight  exclamation. 
Potugin  laid  his  paper  on  his  knees  and  stared 
attentively,  unsmilingly,  at  Litvinoff,  and  Lit- 
vinoff also  stared  attentively  and  unsmilingly  at 
Potugin. 

"May  I  sit  down  beside  you?"  he  asked  at 
last. 

"  Pray,  do.  Only  I  give  you  warning;  if  you 
wish  to  enter  into  conversation  with  me  you  must 
not  be  offended — I  'm  in  the  most  misanthropic 
frame  of  mind  just  now,  and  all  objects  present 
themselves  to  me  in  an  exaggeratedly -evil  light." 

'  That 's  nothing,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  said  Lit- 
vinoff, dropping  down  on  the  bench:—"  it  is  even 
extremely  opportune.  .  .  But  why  has  this  mood 
come  upon  you? " 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  ought  not  to  be  in  a 
rage,"  began  Potugin. — "  Here  I  have  just  been 
reading  about  the  project  for  judicial  reforms  in 
Russia,  and  with  genuine  satisfaction  I  perceive 
that  we  have  at  last  got  some  common  sense,  and 
no  longer  intend  under  the  pretext  of  independ- 
ence there,  of  nationality  or  of  originality,  to 
tack  a  home-made  tail  on  to  pure,  clear  European 
logic;  but,  on  the  contrary,  .  .  they  are  going  to 
take  the  foreign  thing  which  is  good  complete. 
That  one  concession  in  the  affair  of  the  peasants 
was  sufficient.  .  .  Just  try  to  get  rid  of  com- 

146 


SMOKE 

munal  tenure !  .  .  Quite  true,  quite  true,  I  ought 
not  to  be  in  a  rage ;  but,  to  my  misfortune,  I  have 
happened  upon  a  self-made  Russian— I  have  been 
talking  with  him,  and  those  rough  nuggets— born 
geniuses,  and  self-taught  folks  will  worry  me 
into  my  grave! " 

'  What  sort  of  a  born  genius?  "  inquired  Lit- 
vinoff. 

'  Why,  that  sort  of  a  gentleman  is  running 
about,  who  fancies  himself  a  gifted  musician.— 
'  I,'  says  he, '  of  course  am  nothing ;  I  'm  a  cipher 
because  I  never  had  any  education,  but  I  possess 
incomparably  more  melodies  and  more  ideas  than 
Meyerbeer.'  In  the  first  place,  I  will  remark: 
why  were  not  you  educated?  and,  in  the  second, 
not  only  Meyerbeer,  but  the  meanest  German 
flute-player,  who  modestly  whistles  his  part  in 
the  meanest  German  orchestra,  has  twenty  times 
more  ideas  than  all  our  born  geniuses;  only  the 
flute-player  keeps  his  ideas  to  himself,  and  does 
not  thrust  himself  forward  with  them  into  the 
company  of  Mozarts  and  Haydns;  but  our  Rus- 
sian genius  gets  out  a  little  waltz  or  a  little  ro- 
mance, slap  dash,  and  behold— there  he  is,  hands 
thrust  into  his  pockets,  and  a  scornful  curl  on  his 
mouth:  '  I  'm  a  genius,'  says  he.  And  it 's  just 
the  same  with  painting  and  everywhere.  How  I 
detest  those  born  geniuses!  Who  does  not  know 
that  people  pride  themselves  upon  them  only  in 
places  where  there  is  no  real  science  which  has 

147 


SMOKE 

been  assimilated  into  blood  and  flesh,  nor  real  art. 
Is  n't  it  time  to  file  away  in  the  archives  this 
boastfulness,  this  vulgar  rubbish,  along  with  the 
familiar  phrases,  to  the  effect  that  among  us,  in 
Russia,  no  one  dies  of  hunger,  and  that  travelling 
by  road  is  of  the  swiftest  sort,  and  that  we  can 
kill  everybody  with  a  slap  of  our  caps?  They  be- 
siege me  with  the  giftedness  of  the  Russian  na- 
ture, with  the  instinct  of  genius,  with  Kulibins.1 
But  what  sort  of  giftedness  is  it,  gentlemen,  for 
heaven's  sake?  It  is  the  babbling  of  a  man  half 
asleep,  or  a  half -savage  sagacity.  Instinct!  A 
pretty  thing  to  brag  about,  truly!  Take  an  ant 
in  the  forest,  carry  him  off  a  verst  away  from  his 
hill:  he  will  find  the  way  back  home;  a  man  can 
do  nothing  of  the  sort;  what  of  that?  is  he  lower 
than  the  ant?  Instinct,  be  it' ever  so  talented,  is 
unworthy  of  man:  reason — simple,  sound,  com- 
monplace reason— that 's  our  real  fortune,  our 
pride;  reason  never  plays  any  such  pranks;  and 
that 's  why  everything  is  founded  on  it.  But  as 
for  Kulibin,  who,  without  knowing  anything 
about  mechanics,  has  constructed  some  extremely 
absurd  clocks  or  other, — I  would  order  those 
same  clocks  to  be  placed  on  a  pillar  of  scorn; 
'  come,  see,  good  people,'  I  would  say,  '  what  you 
must  not  do.'  Kulibin  is  not  to  blame  in  the  mat- 
ter, but  his  work  is  worthless.  To  praise  Telush- 

l  A  character  in  Ostr6vsky's  famous  drama,  "  The  Thunderstorm ;  " 
a  self-taught   genius  of  a  clockmaker.— TRANSLATOR. 

148 


SMOKE 

kin,  because  he  climbed  the  spire  of  the  Ad- 
miralty, for  his  daring  and  skill— that  is  permis- 
sible; why  should  not  he  be  praised?  But  it  is 
not  proper  to  shout  out  something  to  the  effect, 
'  Has  n't  he  made  a  laughing-stock  of  the  for- 
eign architects?  and  what  's  the  good  of  them? 
they  only  take  your  money/  .  .  He  did  not 
make  a  laughing-stock  of  them  at  all:  afterward 
they  were  obliged  to  erect  a  scaffolding  around 
the  spire,  and  repair  it  in  the  ordinary  way.  For 
God's  sake,  do  not  encourage  such  ideas  among 
us  in  Russia,  as  that  anything  can  be  attained 
without  teaching!  No;  though  you  be  as  wise 
as  Solomon,  yet  learn,  learn  from  the  alphabet 
up!  Otherwise,  sit  down,  and  hang  your  tail 
between  your  legs!  Faugh!  I  Ve  even  got 
heated!" 

Potugin  took  off  his  hat,  and  fanned  himself 
with  his  handkerchief. 

"Russian  art,"  he  began  again:— "  Russian 
art!  .  .  I  know  all  about  Russian  limitations, 
and  I  know  Russian  impotency  also,  but  as  for 
Russian  art,  excuse  me,  but  I  have  never  met  with 
it.  For  twenty  years  in  succession  we  bowed 
down  before  that  bloated  cipher,  Briulloff,  and 
imagined,  if  you  please,  that  a  school  had  been 
founded  among  us,  and  that  it  was  even  destined 
to  be  better  than  all  the  others.  .  .  Russian  art, 
ha-ha-ha!ho-ho!" 

"  But  permit  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  remarked 

149 


SMOKE 

Litvinoff.— "  That  means  that  you  do  not  recog- 
nise Glinka  either? " 

Potugin  scratched  behind  his  ear. 

"  Exceptions,  you  know,  only  prove  the  rule, 
but  even  in  this  case  we  could  not  get  along  with- 
out bragging!  If  you  were  to  say,  for  example, 
that  Glinka  really  was  a  remarkable  musician, 
who  was  prevented  by  circumstances,  external 
and  internal,  from  becoming  the  founder  of  the 
Russian  opera,  no  one  would  dispute  you;  but 
no ;  how  is  that  possible !  It  immediately  becomes 
necessary  to  promote  him  to  be  commander-in- 
chief,  chief  marshal  of  the  Court  in  the  depart- 
ment of  music,  and  rob  other  nations  by  the  way : 
'  they  have  nothing  of  the  sort,  if  you  please,'  and 
then  you  have  pointed  out  to  you  some  '  mighty  ' 
home-bred  genius,  whose  compositions  are  noth- 
ing more  than  a  sorry  imitation  of  second-class 
foreign  workers— second-class,  precisely  that: 
they  are  more  easily  imitated.  Nothing  of  the 
sort.  Oh,  wretched  fools  and  savages,  for  whom 
there  exists  no  heritage  of  art,  and  artists— some- 
thing in  the  style  of  Rappeau :  as  much  as  to  say, 
a  foreigner  can  lift  six  puds  with  one  hand,  but 
our  man  can  lift  twelve!  Nothing  of  the  sort! 
Let  me  inform  you  that  I  cannot  get  the  follow- 
ing memory  out  of  my  head.  This  spring  I  vis- 
ited the  Crystal  Palace,  in  the  suburbs  of  London ; 
in  that  palace,  as  you  are  aware,  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  an  exhibition  of  everything 

loO 


SMOKE 

to  which  man's  inventiveness  has  attained,— the 
encyclopaedia  of  humanity,  it  must  be  called. 
Well,  sir,  I  walked  and  walked  past  all  those 
machines  and  implements,  and  statues  of  great 
men;  and  all  the  while  I  was  thinking:  if  a  decree 
were  issued  to  the  effect  that,  together  with  the 
disappearance  from  the  face  of  the  earth  of  any 
nation,  everything  which  that  nation  had  in- 
vented should  immediately  vanish  from  the  Crys- 
tal Palace,— our  dear  mother,  Orthodox  Russia, 
might  sink  down  to  the  nethermost  hell,  and  not 
a  single  tack,  not  a  single  pin,  would  be  disturbed, 
the  dear  creature :  everything  would  remain  quite 
calmly  in  its  place,  because  even  the  samovar, 
and  linden-bast  slippers,  and  the  shaft-arch,  and 
the  knout— those  renowned  products  of  ours— 
were  not  invented  by  us.  It  would  not  be  pos- 
sible to  try  a  similar  experiment  with  the  Sand- 
wich Islands  even;  their  inhabitants  have  in- 
vented some  sort  of  boats  and  spears:  visitors 
would  notice  their  absence.  That  is  calumny! 
that  is  too  harsh — you  may  say.  .  .  But  I  say: 
in  the  first  place,  I  do  not  know  how  to  censure 
with  a  grumble;  in  the  second,  it  is  evident  that 
no  one  can  make  up  his  mind  to  look  not  merely 
the  devil,  but  himself,  straight  in  the  eye,  and  it 
is  not  the  children  only,  with  us,  who  like  to  be 
lulled  to  sleep.  Our  ancient  inventions  were 
brought  to  us  from  the  East,  our  new  ones  we 
have  dragged  over,  after  a  fashion,  from  the 

151 


SMOKE 

West,  and  yet  we  continue  to  chatter  about  inde- 
pendent Russian  art !  Some  daring  persons  have 
even  discovered  a  Russian  science:  'with  us,  if 
you  please,  twice  two  make  four,  but  somehow  it 
comes  out  in  a  more  dashing  way.' ' 

"  But  stay,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  exclaimed  Lit- 
vinoff.— "  Stay!  Surely,  we  send  something  to 
the  International  Expositions,  and  Europe  pro- 
cures some  supplies  from  us." 

'  Yes,  raw  material,  raw  products.  And  ob- 
serve, my  dear  sir:  our  raw  material  is  chiefly 
good,  only  because  it  depends  upon  other,  and 
very  evil  circumstances:  our  bristles,  for  exam- 
ple, are  large  and  stiff  merely  because  the  pigs 
are  poor;  our  hides  are  firm  and  thick,  because 
the  cows  are  thin;  our  tallow  is  fat,  because  it  is 
boiled  half  and  half  with  the' beef.  .  .  However, 
why  am  I  dilating  to  you  about  this  ?  Surely  you, 
who  occupy  yourself  with  technology,  must  know 
all  these  things  better  than  I  do.  People  say 
to  me :  '  inventiveness !  Russian  inventiveness ! ' 
There  are  our  landed  proprietors  complaining 
bitterly,  and  suffering  loss,  because  no  satisfac- 
tory grain-dryer  exists,  which  would  relieve  them 
of  the  necessity  of  placing  their  sheaves  of  grain 
in  the  kiln,  as  in  the  days  of  Rurik:  those  kilns 
are  frightfully  detrimental,  no  better  than  lin- 
den-bast slippers,  or  bast  mats,  and  they  are  con- 
stantly burning  down.  The  landed  proprietors 
complain,  and  still  the  grain-dryer  does  not  make 

152 


SMOKE 

its  appearance.  And  why  not?  Because  the  for- 
eigner does  not  need  it;  he  grinds  his  grain  raw, 
consequently  does  not  bother  about  inventing 
one,  and  we  ...  are  not  capable  of  doing  it! 
Xot  capable  of  doing  it— and  that 's  the  end  of 
the  matter!  You  might  try  it !  I  vow,  that  from 
this  day  forth,  as  soon  as  a  born  genius  or  a 
self -taught  man  drops  down  on  me,  I  shall  say 
to  him—'  halt,  my  respected  sir!  and  where  's  that 
grain-dryer  ?  Hand  it  over ! '  But  how  can  they  ? 
We  are  capable  of  picking  up  an  old  patched 
shoe,  which  long  ago  fell  from  the  foot  of  Saint- 
Simon  or  Fourier,  and  placing  it  respectfully  on 
our  head,  treating  it  like  a  holy  thing ;  or  of  scrib- 
bling an  article  about  the  historical  and  contem- 
porary significance  of  the  proletariat  in  the  prin- 
cipal cities  of  France— that  also  we  can  do;  but  I 
once  tried  to  suggest  to  a  writer  and  political 
economist,  after  the  fashion  of  your  Mr.  Voroshi- 
loff,  to  name  to  me  twenty  towns  in  that  same 
France,  and  do  you  know  the  result  ?  The  result 
was,  that  the  political  economist,  in  despair, 
finally  mentioned,  among  the  towns  of  France, 
Mont  Fermeil,  probably  recalling  Paul  de 
Kock's  romance.  And  the  following  experience 
occurred  to  me.  One  day  I  was  making  my  way, 
with  gun  and  dog,  through  the  forest.  .  ." 

"  And  are  you  a  sportsman? "  inquired  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  I  shoot  a  little.     I  was  making  my  way  tp 

153 


a  marsh  in  search  of  quail;  other  sportsmen  had 
told  me  about  that  marsh.  I  looked,  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  field,  in  front  of  a  cottage,  sat  a  mer- 
chant's clerk,  fresh  and  lusty  as  a  husked  nut,— 
sat  there  grinning,  I  did  not  know  at  what.  And 
I  asked  him:  '  Where  is  the  marsh,'  said  I,  '  and 
are  there  quail  in  it? '— *  Certainly,  certainly,'  he 
drawled  slowly,  and  with  an  expression  as  though 
I  had  presented  him  with  a  ruble ;  '  with  great 
pleasure,  sir :  it 's  a  first-class  marsh ;  but  as  for  all 
sorts  of  wild  birds — my  God! — there  's  a  capital 
abundance  of  them  also.'  I  went  off,  but  I  not 
only  did  not  find  a  single  wild  bird,— the  marsh 
itself  had  dried  up  long  before.  Now  tell  me, 
if  you  please,  why  does  the  Russian  man  lie? 
Why  does  the  political  economist  lie,  and  about 
wild-fowl,  to  boot? " 

LitvinofF  made  no  reply,  and  only  sighed  sym- 
pathetically. 

"  And  start  a  conversation  with  that  political 
economist,"  resumed  Potugin:— "  about  the  most 
difficult  problems  of  social  science,  only,  in  gen- 
eral terms,  without  facts  .  .  phrrrr !  and  the  bird 
will  soar  off  like  an  eagle !  But  I  once  succeeded 
in  catching  a  bird  of  that  sort :  I  employed  a  good 
visible  bait,  as  you  will  see.  We  were  talking 
with  one  of  our  present-day  '  new  youngsters,' 
about  divers  questions,  as  they  express  it.  Well, 
sir,  he  flew  into  a  great  rage,  as  is  usual;  among 
other  things,  he  rejected  marriage,  with  truly 

154 


SMOKE 

childish  obstinacy.  I  suggested  to  him  argu- 
ments of  one  sort  and  another  ...  it  was  like 
knocking  my  head  against  a  wall!  I  saw  that  it 
was  impossible  to  approach  him  from  that  quar- 
ter. And  suddenly  a  happy  thought  flashed 
across  me!  '  Permit  me  to  inform  you,'  I  began, 
—one  must  always  address  the  '  minnows '  with 
respect — '  that  I  am  amazed  at  you,  my  dear  sir; 
you  are  interested  in  the  natural  sciences— and 
hitherto  you  have  not  noted  the  fact  that  all  car- 
nivorous and  rapacious  animals,  birds  and  beasts, 
all  those  who  are  obliged  to  sally  forth  in  search 
of  prey,  and  toil  over  procuring  live  food  for 
themselves  and  their  offspring  .  . .  and,  of  course, 
you  reckon  man  in  the  list  of  such  animals?'— 'Of 
course  I  do,'  replied  the  '  minnow  ' :  e  man,  after 
all,  is  nothing  but  a  carnivorous  animal.' — '  And 
a  rapacious  one,'  I  added. — *  And  a  rapacious 
one,'  he  assented. — '  That  is  very  well  said,'  I  as- 
sented. '  So,  then,  I  am  amazed  that  you  have 
not  observed  that  all  such  animals  stick  to  mo- 
nogamy? '  The  new  youngster  shuddered. — 
'  How  so? '— '  Why,  just  so.  Recall  the  lion,  the 
wolf,  the  fox,  the  vulture,  the  hawk;  and  be  so 
good  as  to  consider  how  could  they  act  otherwise? 
The  two  of  you  can  hardly  feed  the  children,  as  it 
is.'— My  'minnow'  fell  to  thinking.— 'Well,' says 
he,  '  in  that  case,  the  beast  is  no  model  for  man.' 
— '  Then  I  called  him  an  idealist,  and  how  angry 
he  became!  He  almost  wept.  I  was  obliged  to 

155 


SMOKE 

soothe  him,  and  to  promise  him  that  I  would  not 
betrajr  him  to  his  comrades.  Is  it  a  small  thing 
to  deserve  the  name  of  idealist  ?  And  therein  lies 
the  joke,  that  the  present  young  generation  has 
made  a  mistake  in  its  calculations.  It  has  imag- 
ined that  the  day  of  old-fashioned,  dark,  under- 
ground toil  is  past,  that  it  was  all  well  enough  for 
their  aged  fathers  to  dig  like  tortoises ;  but  for  us 
such  a  role  is  humiliating,  if  you  please,  we  will 
act  in  the  open  air,  we  will  act.  .  .  The  dear  in- 
nocents !  and  even  your  children  will  not  act ;  and 
would  n't  you  like  to  go  back  to  the  cave,  to  the 
cave  again,  in  the  footprints  of  the  old  men?  " 

A  brief  silence  ensued. 

"  I,  my  dear  sir,  am  of  this  opinion,"  Potugin 
began  again:—"  that  we  are  indebted  to  civilisa- 
tion not  alone  for  knowledge*  art,  and  law,  but  for 
the  fact  that  even  the  very  sentiment  of  beauty 
and  poetry  is  developed  and  enters  into  force  un- 
der the  influence  of  that  same  civilisation;  and 
that  so-called  national,  ingenuous,  unconscious, 
creative  genius  is  stuff  and  nonsense.  Even  in 
Homer  traces  are  already  discernible  of  a  refined 
and  wealthy  civilisation;  even  love  is  ennobled 
thereby.  The  Slavyanophils  would  gladly  hang 
me  for  such  a  heresy  if  they  were  not  such  ten- 
der-hearted creatures;  but,  nevertheless,  I  insist 
upon  my  view — and  however  much  they  may  re- 
gale me  with  Madame  Kokhanovsky  and  *  The 
Hive  at  Rest,'  I  will  not  inhale  that  triple  extralt 

156 


SMOKE 

de  mougik  russe;  for  I  do  not  belong  to  the  high- 
est society,  which  finds  it  indispensably  necessary, 
from  time  to  time,  to  assure  itself  that  it  has  not 
become  completely  Frenchified,  and  for  whose 
special  use  that  literature  en  cuir  de  Russie  is 
composed.  Try  the  experiment  of  reading  to  the 
common  people — the  genuine  populace— the 
most  incisive,  the  most  '  national '  passages  from 
the  '  Hive ' ;  they  will  think  you  are  communi- 
cating some  new  plot  about  usury  or  hard  drink- 
ing. I  repeat  it,  without  civilisation  there  is  no 
poetry.  Would  you  like  to  obtain  an  illustration 
of  the  unpoetic  ideal  of  the  uncivilised  Russian 
man?  Open  our  epic  songs,  our  legends.  I  am 
not  talking  now  about  the  fact  that  love  always 
is  represented  in  them  as  the  result  of  witchcraft, 
of  sorcery — is  produced  by  drinking  '  a  love-phil- 
tre,' and  is  even  called  soldering,  chilblain;  nei- 
ther am  I  referring  to  the  fact  that  our  so-called 
epic  literature  alone,  among  all  the  others,  Euro- 
pean and  Asiatic,— alone,  observe,— has  not  pre- 
sented—unless you  count  Vanka-Tanka  as  such 
—a  single  typical  pair  of  loving  human  beings; 
that  the  paladin  of  Holy  Russia  always  begins  his 
acquaintance  with  his  fated  affinity  by  beating  her 
'  mercilessly  '  on  her  white  body— whence  *  also 
the  feminine  sex  lives  swollen  up ' ;  of  all  that  I 
will  not  speak;  but  permit  me  to  direct  your  at- 
tention to  that  elegant  specimen  of  youth,  the 
jeune  premier,  as  he  was  depicted  by  the  imagi- 

157 


nation  of  the  primitive,  uncivilised  Slavonian. 
Here,  be  pleased  to  note,  comes  the  leading  lover; 
he  has  made  himself  a  nice  little  cloak  of  marten- 
fur,  stitched  along  all  the  seams:  a  belt  of  the 
seven  silks  is  girt  about  him  just  under  the  arm- 
pits, and  the  collar  of  the  cloak  is  made  higher 
than  his  head;  from  the  front  his  ruddy  face, 
from  the  back  his  white  neck  is  not  visible,  his  cap 
rests  on  one  ear,  and  on  his  feet  are  morocco 
boots,  with  awl-like  toes,  his  heels  are  pointed,— 
around  the  little  tips  an  egg  might  roll;  under 
the  high  heels  a  sparrow  might  fly  and  flutter.— 
And  the  dashing  young  fellow  walks  with  a  short, 
mincing  step,  that  famous  *  flaunting '  gait, 
wherewith  our  Alcibiades,  Tchurilo  Plenkovitch, 
produced  such  a  wonderful,  almost  medicinal  ef- 
fect on  the  old  women  and>the  young  maidens, 
that  same  gait  wherewith,  down  to  the  present 
day,  our  waiters,  limbered  in  every  joint,  that 
cream,  that  flower  of  Russian  foppishness,  that 
nee  plus  ultra  of  Russian  taste,  trip  about  in  so  in- 
imitable a  manner.  I  am  not  saying  this  in  jest: 
dawdling  dash  is  our  artistic  ideal.  Well,  is  the 
picture  true?  Does  it  contain  many  materials  for 
painting,  for  sculpture?  And  the  beauty  who 
fascinates  the  young  men,  and  whose  '  blood  in 

her  face  is  as  though  in  that  of  a  hare?  * 

But,  apparently,  you  are  not  listening  to  me?  " 

LitvinofF  started.     He  really  had  not  heard 
what  Potugin  had  been  saying  to  him:  he  had 

158 


SMOKE 

been  thinking,  importunately  thinking  about 
Irfna,  about  his  last  meeting  with  her.  .  . 

"Excuse  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"  he  began:— 
"  but  I  want  to  put  my  former  question  to  you 
once  more,  about  .  .  .  about  Madame  Ratmi- 
roff." 

Potugin  folded  his  newspaper,  and  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket. 

"  Again  you  wish  to  know  how  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  her? " 

"  No,  not  that ;  I  should  like  to  hear  your  opin- 
ion .  .  .  about  the  part  which  she  has  played  in 
Petersburg.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  what  was  that 
part?" 

"  But  I  really  do  not  know  what  to  say  to  you, 
Grigory  Mikhailovitch.  I  became  pretty  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  Madame  Ratmiroff 

but  quite  accidentally,  and  not  for  long.  I  have 
never  taken  a  peep  into  her  society,  and  what 
took  place  there  has  remained  unknown  to  me. 
People  have  chattered  somewhat  in  my  presence, 
but  you  know  scandal  reigns  among  us  not  in 
democratic  circles  only.  Moreover,  I  never  had 
the  curiosity  to  inquire.  But  I  perceive,"  he 
added,  after  a  brief  pause:— "that  she  interests 
you." 

'  Yes ;  we  have  had  a  couple  of  pretty  frank 
conversations.  Still,  I  ask  myself:  Is  she  sin- 
cere? " 

Potugin  dropped  his  eyes.—"  When  she  gets 
159 


SMOKE 

carried  away — she  is  sincere,  like  all  passionate 
women.  Pride  also  sometimes  keeps  her  from 
lying." 

"  But  is  she  proud?    I  should  suppose,  rather 
—that  she  is  capricious." 

"  As  proud  as  the  devil;  but  that 's  nothing." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  she  sometimes  exagger- 
ates. .  ." 

;'  That 's  nothing,  either;  she  is  sincere,  all  the 
same.  Well,  and  speaking  in  general,  from 
whom  would  you  care  to  have  the  truth?  The 
very  best  of  those  young  noble  ladies  are  corrupt 
to  the  very  marrow  of  their  bones." 

"  But,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  call  to  mind,  did  not 
you  call  yourself  her  friend?  Was  it  not  you 
who,  almost  by  force,  took  me  to  her? " 

"What  of  that?  She  asked  me  to  get  you: 
why  not?  But  I  really  am  her  friend.  She  is 
not  devoid  of  good  qualities:  she  is  very  kind— 
that  is  to  say,  generous, — that  is  to  say,  she  gives 
to  others  that  which  she  does  not  need  herself. 
However,  you  certainly  must  know  her  quite  as 
well  as  I  do." 

"  I  used  to  know  Irina  Pavlovna  ten  years 
ago;  but  since  then  .  .  ." 

"  Ekh,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  what  are  you 
saying?  Do  people's  characters  change?  As  they 
are  in  the  cradle,  so  they  are  in  the  grave.  Or, 
perhaps  .  .  .  ." — Here  Potiigin  bent  still  lower; 

160 


SMOKE 

"  perhaps  you  are  afraid  of  falling  into  her 
hands?  That  really  .  .  .  well,  you  cannot  avoid 
falling  into  some  one's  hands." 

Litvinoff  laughed  in  a  constrained  way.— 
"You  think  so?" 

'  You  cannot  avoid  it.  Man  is  weak,  woman 
is  strong,  chance  is  all-powerful;  it  is  difficult  to 
reconcile  one's  self  to  a  colourless  existence,  it  is 
impossible  wholly  to  forget  one's  self  .  .  .  but 
yonder  is  beauty  and  sympathy— yonder  is 
warmth  and  light, — why  resist?  And  you  run  to 
it  like  a  child  to  its  nurse.  Well,  and  afterward, 
of  course,  there  is  cold,  and  darkness,  and  empti- 
ness .  .  as  is  proper.  And  the  end  of  it  is,  that 
you  will  grow  unused  to  everything,  you  will 
cease  to  understand  anything.  At  first  you  will 
not  understand  how  it  is  possible  to  love;  and 
afterward  you  will  not  understand  how  it  is  pos- 
sible to  live." 

Litvinoff  looked  at  Potugin,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  never  before  had  he  met  a  more  solitary, 
a  more  deserted  ....  a  more  unhappy  man. 
On  this  occasion  he  was  not  timid,  he  did  not 
stand  on  ceremony ;  all  despondent  and  pale,  with 
his  head  on  his  breast,  and  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
he  sat  motionless,  and  merely  smiled  a  melan- 
choly smile.  Litvinoff  felt  sorry  for  this  poor, 
queer,  splenetic  fellow. 

"  Irina  Pavlovna  mentioned  to  me,  among 
161 


SMOKE 

other  things,"  he  began  in  a  low  tone,—"  one  of 
her  intimate  friends,  whom  she  called,  I  think, 
Madame  Byelsky  or  Dolsky.  .  ." 

Potugin  cast  his  sorrowful  eyes  on  Litvi- 
noff. 

"  Ah!  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  dull  tone.  .  .  "  She 
mentioned  her  .  .  .  well,  and  what  of  it?  How- 
ever," he  added,  with  an  unnatural  sort  of  yawn : 
"  I  must  go  home— to  dinner.  I  ask  your 
pardon." 

He  sprang  up  from  the  bench  and  moved  rap- 
idly away  before  Litvinoff  could  manage  to  utter 
a  word.  .  .  His  pity  gave  way  to  vexation — vexa- 
tion at  himself,  of  course.  Every  sort  of  indiscre- 
tion was  unnatural  to  him;  he  had  wished  to  ex- 
press his  sympathy  for  Potugin  and  the  result  had 
been  something  in  the  nature  of  an  awkward  hint. 
With  secret  dissatisfaction  at  heart,  he  returned 
to  his  hotel. 

"  Corrupt  to  the  very  marrow  of  their  bones," 
he  thought  some  time  later  ..."  but  proud  as 
the  devil!  She,  that  woman,  who  is  almost  on 
her  knees  before  me,  proud?  proud,  not  ca- 
pricious? " 

Litvinoff  tried  to  expel  Irina's  image  from  his 
head,  but  did  not  succeed.  For  that  very  reason, 
also,  he  did  not  recall  his  affianced  bride;  he  felt 
to-day  that  image  would  not  surrender  its  place. 
He  resolved  to  await  the  solution  of  all  this 
"  strange  affair,"  without  troubling  himself  fur- 

162 


SMOKE 

ther;  the  solution  could  not  be  long  delayed,  and 
Litvinoff  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  it 
would  be  of  the  most  abundant  and  natural  sort. 
So  he  thought,  but,  in  the  meantime,  it  was  not 
Irina's  image  alone  which  would  not  leave  him— 
all  her  words  recurred  in  turn  to  his  memory. 

A  waiter  brought  him  a  note:  it  was  from 
Irina. 

"  If  you  have  nothing  to  do  this  evening,  come :  I  shall 
not  be  alone ;  I  have  guests — and  you  will  have  a  closer 
view  of  us,  of  our  society.  I  am  very  anxious  that  you 
should  see  them :  I  have  a  premonition  that  they  will  dis- 
play themselves  in  all  their  glory.  And  you  ought  to 
know  what  sort  of  air  I  breathe.  Come ;  I  shall  be  glad 
to  see  you,  and  you  are  not  bored  [Irina  meant  to  say : 
you  will  not  be  bored].  Prove  to  me  that  our  explana- 
tion of  to-day  has  rendered  impossible  any  misunderstand- 
ing between  us.  Faithfully  yours,  I." 

Litvinoff  put  on  his  dress  suit  and  a  white  tie, 
and  went  to  Irina's.  "  All  this  is  of  no  impor- 
tance," he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  in  thought, 
on  the  way,—"  but  take  a  look  at  them  .  .  .  why 
should  not  I  take  a  look?  It  is  curious."  A  few 
days  previously  these  same  people  had  aroused 
in  him  a  different  feeling:  they  had  aroused  his 
indignation. 

He  walked  with  hurried  steps,  with  his  hat 
pulled  far  down  over  his  eyes,  with  a  constrained 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  Bambaeff,  who  was  sitting 

163 


SMOKE 

in  front  of  Weber's  Cafe,  and  pointed  him  out 
from  a  distance  to  Voroshiloff  and  Pishtchalkin, 
exclaimed  enthusiastically:  "Do  you  see  that 
man?  He  's  stone!  He  's  a  rock!!  He  's 
granite !  !  ! " 


164 


XV 

LITVINOFF  found  quite  a  number  of  guests  at 
Irina's.  In  a  corner,  at  the  card-table,  sat  three 
of  the  generals  of  the  picnic:  the  fat,  the  irrita- 
ble, and  the  condescending  ones.  They  were 
playing  whist  with  a  dummy,  and  there  are  no 
words  in  human  language  wherewith  to  express 
the  pompousness  with  which  they  dealt,  took 

tricks,   played  clubs,   played   diamonds 

just  like  statesmen!  Leaving  to  plebeians,  aux 
bourgeois,  the  comments  and  adages  customary 
during  a  game,  the  generals  uttered  only  the  most 
indispensable  words;  but  the  fat  general  per- 
mitted himself  between  two  deals  to  say,  with 
energetic  distinctness :  ce  Ce  satane  as  de  pique! " 
Among  the  visitors  Litvinoff  recognised  the 
ladies  who  had  taken  part  in  the  picnic ;  but  there 
were  others  also  whom  he  had  not  hitherto  seen. 
One  was  so  old  that  it  seemed  as  though  she  must 
collapse  immediately:  she  was  wriggling  her 
dreadful  bare,  dark-grey  shoulders  about,— and 
covering  her  mouth  with  her  fan;  she  was  cast- 
ing sidelong  glances  at  Ratmiroff ,  with  her  al- 
ready quite  dead  eyes;  he  was  paying  court  to 
her;  she  was  greatly  respected  in  high  society 

165 


SMOKE 

as  the  last  Maid  of  Honour  of  the  Empress 
Katherine  II.  By  the  window,  dressed  as  a  shep- 
herdess, sat  Countess  Sh.,  "  the  Tzaritza  of  the 
Wasps,"  surrounded  by  young  men;  among 
them,  distinguished  by  his  arrogant  bearing,  his 
perfectly  flat  skull,  and  his  soullessly-brutal  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  worthy  of  a  Khan  of 
Bokhara  or  of  a  Roman  Heliogabalus,  was  Fini- 
kofF,  famous  for  his  wealth  and  his  good  looks; 
another  lady,  also  a  Countess,  and  known  by  the 
diminutive  name  of  IAse,  was  chatting  with  a 
long-haired  blond,  pale  "  spirit-medium  ";  beside 
them  stood  a  gentleman,  also  pale  and  long- 
haired, sneering  significantly :  this  gentleman  was 
also  a  believer  in  spiritualism,  but  busied  himself, 
in  addition,  with  prophecy,  and,  on  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Apocalypse  and  the  Talmud,  foretold 
all  sorts  of  remarkable  events;  not  one  of  these 
events  took  place, — but  he  was  not  discomfited, 
and  went  on  prophesying.  That  same  heaven- 
born  genius  who  had  aroused  such  ire  in  Potugin 
had  placed  himself  at  the  piano;  he  was  striking 
chords  in  an  absent-minded  way,  d'une  main  dis- 
traite, and  carelessly  gazing  about  him.  Irma 
was  sitting  on  the  divan  between  Prince  Koko 
and  Madame  X.,  formerly  renowned  as  the 
beauty  and  wit  of  All-Russia,  and  who  had  long 
ago  turned  into  a  worthless  wrinkled  mushroom, 
whence  exhaled  an  odour  of  fast-tide  oil  and 
putrid  poison.  On  catching  sight  of  Litvfnoff , 

1GO 


SMOKE 

Irina  blushed,  rose,  and  when  he  approached  her, 
pressed  his  hand  warmly.  She  wore  a  black  crape 
gown,  with  barely  visible  gold  embellishments; 
her  shoulders  gleamed  with  a  dull  whiteness,  and 
her  face,  which  was  also  pale  beneath  the  momen- 
tary wave  of  crimson  which  had  swept  over  it, 
breathed  forth  the  triumph  of  beauty,  and  not  of 
beauty  only:  a  secret,  almost  mocking  joy, 
sparkled  in  her  half -closed  eyes,  quivered  around 
her  lips  and  nostrils.  .  . 

Ratmiroff  approached  Litvinoff,  and  after  ex- 
changing with  him  the  customary  greetings, 
which  were  not,  however,  accompanied  by  his  ha- 
bitual playfulness,  presented  him  to  two  or  three 
ladies:  to  the  aged  ruin,  to  the  Empress  of  the 
Wasps,  to  Countess  Liza.  .  .  They  received  him 
with  a  tolerable  amount  of  graciousness.  Litvi- 
nofF did  not  belong  to  their  set  ...  but  he  was 
not  ill-looking,  even  very  far  from  it,  and  the 
expressive  features  of  his  youthful  face  aroused 
their  attention.  Only  he  did  not  understand  how 
to  rivet  this  attention  on  himself;  he  had  grown 
disused  to  society,  and  felt  somewhat  embar- 
rassed, and  then,  too,  the  fat  general  had  fixed  his 
eyes  on  him.  "Aha!  the  civilian!  the  free- 
thinker!" that  immovable,  heavy  glance  seemed  to 
say:  "  so  he  has  crawled  into  our  society;  please  let 
me  kiss  your  hand,"  says  he.  Irina  came  to  Lit- 
vinofFs  rescue.  She  managed  matters  so  cleverly 
that  he  found  himself  in  a  corner,  near  the  door, 

167 


SMOKE 

a  little  behind  her.  When  she  addressed  him  she 
was  obliged  every  time  to  turn  toward  him,  and 
every  time  he  admired  the  beautiful  curve  of  her 
gleaming  neck  he  inhaled  the  delicate  perfume 
of  her  hair.  The  expression  of  profound  and 
silent  gratitude  never  left  her  face:  he  could  not 
but  admit  that  it  was  precisely  gratitude  which 
was  expressed  by  those  smiles,  those  glances,  and 
he  also  began  to  seethe  all  over  with  the  same 
sentiment,  and  he  felt  ashamed,  yet  found  it 
sweet  and  painful  .  .  .  and  at  the  same  time 
she  seemed  constantly  desirous  of  saying:  "Well? 
What  do  you  think  of  this? "  This  wordless 
question  became  audible  to  Litvinoff  with  espe- 
cial clearness  every  time  any  of  those  present 
uttered  or  perpetrated  a  stupidity,  and  this  hap- 
pened more  than  once  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing. Once,  even,  she  could  not  contain  herself, 
and  laughed  aloud. 

Countess  Liza,  a  very  superstitious  lady  and 
inclined  to  everything  extraordinary,  after  hav- 
ing talked  her  fill  to  the  light-haired  medium 
about  Hume,  table-tipping,  self -playing  accor- 
deons,  and  the  like,  wound  up  by  asking  him 
whether  any  animals  existed  upon  whom  mag- 
netism produced  an  effect. 

"  One  such  animal  exists,  at  any  rate,"  re- 
marked Prince  Koko  from  a  distance. — "  You 
know  Milanovsky,  I  believe?  They  put  him  to 
sleep  in  my  presence,  and  he  even  snored,  ai',  ai'l  " 

168 


SMOKE 

'  You  are  very  malicious,  mon  prince;  I 
am  talking  about  real  animals,  je  parle  des 
betes/' 

"Mais  moi  aussi,  madame,  je  parle  d'une 
bete.  .  ." 

'  There  are  real  animals  also,"  interposed  the 
spiritualist;— "  for  example— crabs;  they  are 
very  nervous,  and  easily  fall  into  a  cataleptic 
state." 

The  Countess  was  amazed.—"  What?  Crabs! 
Is  it  possible?  Akh,  that  is  extremely  curious! 
How  I  should  like  to  see  it!  Monsieur  Luzhin," 
she  added,  addressing  a  young  man  with  a  stony 
face,  such  as  new  dolls  have,  and  stony  collar  (he 
was  famed  for  having  wet  that  same  face  and 
collar  with  dashes  of  Niagara  and  the  Nubian 
Nile,  but  he  remembered  nothing  about  all  his 
travels,  and  loved  only  Russian  puns  ....), 
"  Monsieur  Luzhin,  be  so  good  as  to  get  us  a 
crab." 

Monsieur  Luzhin  grinned.—  "  A  live  one  or 
only  a  lively  one?  "  he  inquired. 

The  Countess  did  not  understand  him. — "Mais 
oui,  a  crab,"  she  repeated,  "  une  ecrevisse." 

"  What— what  's  the  meaning  of  this?— a 
crab?  a  crab?"  interposed  Countess  Sh.  sternly. 
The  absence  of  Monsieur  Verdier  irritated  her: 
she  could  not  understand  why  Irina  had  not  in- 
vited that  most  charming  of  Frenchmen.  The 
ruin,  who  had  long  ago  ceased  to  understand  any- 

169 


SMOKE 

thing,— in  addition  to  which,  deafness  had  seized 
upon  her,— only  waggled  her  head. 

f(  Oui,  oui,  vous  allez  voir.  Monsieur  Liizhin, 
please  .  .  .  ." 

The  young  traveller  bowed,  left  the  room,  and 
speedily  returned.  A  waiter  followed  him,  and 
grinning  to  the  full  extent  of  his  mouth,  bore  a 
platter  whereon  was  visible  a  large  black  crab. 

"  Void,  madame,"  exclaimed  Liizhin; — "  now 
you  can  set  about  the  operation  on  the  crab.1  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  "  (Russians  are  always  the  first  to  laugh 
at  their  own  witticisms.)  — "  He,  he,  he!  "  echoed 
Prince  Koko,  in  the  quality  of  a  patriot  and 
patron  of  all  national  products. 

(We  beg  the  reader  not  to  feel  astonished  and 
not  to  get  angry:  who  can  answer  for  himself, 
that,  when  seated  in  the  parterre  of  the  Alexan- 
drinsky  Theatre,  and  invaded  by  its  atmosphere, 
he  will  not  perpetrate  even  a  worse  pun?) 

" Merd,  merd"  said  the  Countess.— "A lions, 
allons,  Monsieur  Fox,  montrez-nous  pa" 

The  waiter  placed  the  platter  on  a  small  round 
table.  A  slight  movement  ensued  among  the 
guests ;  several  necks  were  outstretched ;  only  the 
generals  at  the  card-table  preserved  the  serene 
solemnity  of  their  pose.  The  medium  rumpled 
up  his  hair,  frowned,  and  approaching  the  table, 
began  to  make  passes  with  his  hands  in  the  air: 
the  crab  bristled  up,  drew  back,  and  elevated  its 

JThe  word  also  means  cancer  in  Russian.— TRANSLATOR. 

170 


SMOKE 

claws.  The  medium  repeated  and  quickened  his 
motions :  the  crab  bristled  as  before. 

"  Mais  que  doit-die  done  faire?  "  inquired  the 
Countess. 

"  Elle  doa  rester  immobile  et  se  dresser  sur  sa 
quiou"  replied  Mr.  Fox,  with  a  strong  American 
accent,  convulsively  agitating  his  ringers  over  the 
platter;  but  the  magnetism  did  not  act,  the  crab 
continued  to  move  about.  The  medium  an- 
nounced that  he  was  not  at  his  best,  and  retreated 
from  the  table  with  a  dissatisfied  aspect.  The 
Countess  undertook  to  console  him,  asserting  that 
similar  failures  sometimes  happened,  even  with 
Monsieur  Hume.  .  .  Prince  Koko  confirmed 
her  words.  The  expert  in  the  Apocalypse  and 
the  Talmud  stole  up  to  the  table  on  the  sly,  and 
poking  his  fingers  swiftly,  but  violently,  in  the 
direction  of  the  crab,  also  tried  his  luck,  but  with- 
out success:  no  symptoms  of  catalepsy  mani- 
fested themselves.  Then  the  waiter  was  sum- 
moned, and  ordered  to  remove  the  crab,  which 
command  he  obeyed,  grinning  to  the  full  capacity 
of  his  mouth,  as  before ;  he  could  be  heard  to  snort 
outside  the  door.  ...  In  the  kitchen,  later  on, 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  laughter  uber  diese  Rus- 
sen.  The  born  genius  had  continued  to  strike 
chords  during  the  whole  time  of  the  experiment 
with  the  crab,  keeping  to  minor  tones,  because, 
you  know,  no  one  could  tell  what  would  prove 
effectual  in  that  case,— then  the  born  genius 

171 


SMOKE 

played  his  inevitable  waltz,  and,  of  course,  re- 
ceived the  most  flattering  approval.  Carried 
away  by  the  spirit  of  emulation,  Count  X.,  our 
incomparable  dilettante  (see  Chapter  I),  "re- 
cited "  a  chansonette  of  his  own  invention,  stolen 
entire  from  Offenbach.  Its  playful  refrain  on 
the  words  "  Quel  ceuf?  quel  bceuf? "  made  the 
heads  of  almost  all  the  ladies  roll  to  right  and  to 
left ;  one  even  moaned  gently,  and  the  irresistible, 
inevitable  "  Charmant!  charmant! "  flitted  across 
every  one's  mouth.  Irina  exchanged  a  glance 
with  Litvmoff,  and  again  that  mysterious,  mock- 
ing expression  hovered  about  her  lips.  .  .  .  But 
it  came  more  powerfully  into  action  a  little  later, 
—it  even  assumed  a  malevolent  cast,— when 
Prince  Koko,  that  representative  and  defender 
of  the  interests  of  the  nobility,  took  it  into  his 
head  to  set  forth  his  views  to  that  same  medium, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  immediately  made  use 
of  his  famous  phrase  about  the  shock  to  property 
in  Russia,  in  which  connection,  incidentally,  de- 
mocracy caught  it.  The  American  blood  in  the 
medium  made  itself  felt ;  he  began  to  argue.  The 
Prince,  as  was  fitting,  immediately  began  to 
shout,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  in  place  of  proofs 
incessantly  repeating :  "  C'est  absurde!  cela  na 
pas  le  sens  commun! "  The  wealthy  Finikoff 
began  to  utter  impertinences,  without  stopping 
to  think  to  whom  they  applied ;  the  Talmudist  set 
up  a  squeak;  even  Countess  Sh.  took  to  rattling. 

172 


SMOKE 

...  In  short,  there  arose  almost  identically  the 
same  detestable  uproar  as  at  Gubaryoff's;  only, 
in  this  case,  there  were  no  beer  and  tobacco-smoke, 
and  all  present  were  better  dressed.  Ratmiroff 
endeavoured  to  restore  silence  (the  generals  had 
expressed  dissatisfaction,  an  exclamation  from 
Boris  had  made  itself  audible:  "  Encore  cette  sa- 
tanee  politique!1'},  but  the  effort  proved  fruit- 
less ;  and  a  dignitary  who  was  present,  one  of  the 
softly-penetrating  sort,  on  undertaking  to  pre- 
sent le  resume  de  la  question  en  pen  de  mots,  suf- 
fered defeat;  it  is  true  that  he  so  mumbled  and 
repeated  himself,  so  evidently  did  not  know  how 
either  to  hear  or  answer  objections,  and  so  in- 
dubitably did  not  himself  know  precisely  in  what 
la  question  consisted,  that  no  other  issue  could 
have  been  expected;  and  Irina,  too,  urged  on  the 
wranglers  on  the  sly,  and  hounded  them  one  upon 
the  other,  constantly  glancing  at  LitvinofF,  and 
nodding  her  head  slightly  at  him.  .  .  And  he  sat 
there  as  though  bewitched,  heard  nothing,  and 
only  waited  for  those  magnificent  eyes  to  flash 
upon  him  once  again,  for  that  pale,  tender,  mis- 
chievous, charming  face  to  flit  once  more  across 
his  vision.  .  .  The  end  of  it  was  that  the  ladies 
rebelled,  and  demanded  that  the  dispute  should 
cease.  .  Ratmfroff  invited  the  dilettante  to  re- 
peat his  chansonette,  and  the  born  genius  played 
his  waltz  again.  .  . 

Litvfnoff  remained  until  after  midnight,  and 
173 


SMOKE 

took  his  departure  later  than  all  the  others.  The 
conversation  had  touched  upon  many  topics  dur- 
ing the  course  of  the  evening,  sedulously  avoiding 
everything  which  was  in  the  slightest  degree  in- 
teresting; the  generals,  after  they  had  finished 
their  majestic  game,  had  majestically  joined  in 
it:  the  influence  of  these  statesmen  immediately 
made  itself  felt.  A  conversation  was  in  progress 
about  the  notorieties  of  the  Parisian  demi-monde,, 
with  whose  names  and  talents  every  one  appeared 
to  be  intimately  acquainted,  about  Sardou's  last 
play,  about  About's  romance,  about  Patti  in 
"  Traviata."  Some  one  suggested  that  they  play 
at  "  secretary,"  au  secretaire:  but  this  was  not  a 
success.  The  replies  were  insipid,  and  not  devoid 
of  grammatical  errors;  the  fat  general  told  how 
he,  on  one  occasion,  in  answer  to  the  question, 
Quest  ce  que  I'amour?  had  replied:  Une  colique 
remontee  au  cceur,  and  immediately  began  to 
laugh  with  his  wooden  laugh;  the  ruin,  with  a 
sweeping  gesture,  tapped  him  with  her  fan  on 
the  arm;  a  bit  of  whitewash  fell  off  of  her  fore- 
head at  this  vigorous  gesture.  The  dried  mush- 
room undertook  to  recall  the  Slavonic  princi- 
palities and  the  indispensability  of  an  Orthodox 
propaganda  beyond  the  Danube,  but  finding  no 
echo,  began  to  hiss,  and  withdrew  into  the  back- 
ground. In  fact,  they  talked  more  about  Hume 
than  about  anything  else;  even  the  "Empress 
of  the  Wasps  "  narrated  how  hands  had  crept 


SMOKE 

over  her,  and  how  she  had  seen  them,  and 
had  put  her  own  ring  on  one  of  them.  In  truth, 
Irina  triumphed:  even  if  Litvinoff  had  paid 
more  attention  to  what  was  being  said  around 
him,  still  he  would  not  have  carried  away  a 
single  sincere  word,  a  single  intelligent  thought, 
or  a  single  new  fact  out  of  all  that  incoherent 
and  lifeless  chatter.  No  enthusiasm  wras  audi- 
ble even  in  the  cries  and  exclamations;  even  in 
the  reproaches  no  passion  was  to  be  felt:  only 
from  time  to  time,  from  beneath  the  mask  of 
pseudo-civic  indignation,  pseudo-scornful  indif- 
ference, did  the  fear  of  possible  losses  give  forth 
a  shriek,  and  a  few  names,  which  posterity  will 
not  forget,  were  uttered  with  gnashings  of  teeth. 
.  .  .  And  not  one  drop  of  living  current  beneath 
all  this  rubbish  and  litter!  What  ancient  stuff, 
what  useless  nonsense,  what  insipid  trifles  ab- 
sorbed all  those  brains,  those  souls,  and  absorbed 
them  not  on  that  one  evening  only,  not  only 
in  society,  but  at  home,  at  all  hours,  every  day, 
in  all  the  breadth  and  depth  of  their  beings! 
And  what  ignorance,  in  conclusion!  What 
lack  of  comprehension  of  everything  upon 
which  human  life  is  founded,  by  which  it  is 
adorned! 

As  she  took  leave  of  Litvinoff,  Irina  slightly 
pressed  his  hand,  and  significantly  whispered: 
"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  Are  you  satis- 
fied? Have  you  sufficiently  admired?  Is  it 

175 


SMOKE 

nice?  "    He  made  her  no  reply,  but  merely  bowed 
silently  and  low. 

When  she  was  left  alone  with  her  husband 
Irina  was  on  the  point  of  retiring  to  her  bedroom. 
.  .  He  stopped  her. 

"  Je  vous  ai  beaucoup  admiree  ce  soir,  ma- 
dame" — he  said,  as  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  and 
leaned  his  elbows  on  the  mantelpiece:— "  vous 
vous  etes  parfaitement  moquee  de  nous  tous" 

"  Pas  plus  cette  fois-ci  que  Us  autres"—she 
replied  indifferently. 

"  How  do  you  wish  me  to  understand  that?  " 
—inquired  Ratmiroff. 

"  As  you  please." 

"  H'm.     C'est  clair"— Ratmiroff  cautiously, 
in  a  feline  way,  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cig- 
arette with  the  long  nail  of , his  little  finger.— 
'  Yes,  by  the  way!    That  new  acquaintance  of 
yours— what 's  his  name?  .  .  .  Mr.  Litvinoff- 
must  enjoy  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  clever 
man." 

At  Litvinoff's  name  Irina  turned  swiftly 
round. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

The  general  grinned. 

"  He  never  utters  a  word ;  .  .  .  evidently,  he  's 
afraid  of  compromising  himself." 

Irina  laughed  also,  only  not  at  all  in  the  same 
way  as  her  husband. 

"  It  is  better  to  hold  one's  tongue  than  to  talk 
....  as  some  people  do." 

176 


SMOKE 

"Attrape!  "—said  Ratmiroff,  with  feigned  hu- 
mility.—" Jesting  aside,  he  has  a  very  interesting 
face.  Such  a  ...  concentrated  expression  .  . 
and,  altogether,  a  bearing.  .  .  .  Yes."— The 
general  adjusted  his  necktie,  and  throwing  back 
his  head,  scrutinised  his  own  moustache.—"  I  as- 
sume that  he  is  a  republican,  after  the  fashion 
of  that  other  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Potugin ;  he  's 
another  of  the  clever  men  who  are  taciturn." 

Irina's  brows  slowly  elevated  themselves  above 
the  widely -opened,  brilliant  eyes,  and  her  lips  be- 
came compressed,  almost  contorted. 

'*  What  is  your  object  in  saying  this,  Valerian 
Vladimiritch  ? "— she  remarked,  as  though  sym- 
pathetically.— "  You  are  only  wasting  your 
powder  on  the  empty  air.  .  .  We  are  not  in  Rus- 
sia, and  no  one  is  listening  to  us." 

Ratmiroff  writhed. 

'  That  is  not  my  opinion  only,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna," — he  began,  with  a  voice  that,  somehow, 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  guttural:— 
"  others  also  think  that  that  gentleman  looks  like 
a  carbonaro.  .  ." 

"Really?    And  who  are  those  others?" 

"  Why,  Boris,  for  example.  .  ." 

"  What?  And  that  fellow  must  needs  express 
his  opinion? " 

Irina  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  though  shud- 
dering from  cold,  and  softly  passed  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  over  them. 

"  That   fellow  .  .  .  yes,   that  fellow  .  .  that 

177 


fellow.  Permit  me  to  inform  you,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna,  you  appear  to  be  losing  your  temper;  and 
you  know  yourself  that  the  person  who  loses  his 
temper  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  losing  my  temper?    For  what  reason?  " 

"  I  don't  know;  perhaps  the  remark  displeases 
you  which  I  permitted  myself  to  make  con- 
cerning .  .  .  ." 

Ratmiroff  began  to  stammer. 

"  Concerning?  "—repeated  Irina  inquiringly. 
— "  Akh,  pray  omit  irony  and  speak  more 
quickly.  I  am  tired,  I  am  sleepy."— She  took  a 
candle  from  the  table.—"  Concerning?  ..." 

'  Well,  concerning  that  same  Mr.  Litvinoff. 
As  there  is  no  longer  any  doubt  that  you  take  a 
very  great  interest  in  him  .  .  ." 

Irina  raised  the  hand  in  which  she  held  the 
candlestick;  the  flame  came  on  a  level  with  her 
husband's  face,  and,  after  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eye,  with  attention  and  almost  with  curi- 
osity, she  suddenly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  you?  "—asked  Rat- 
miroff, with  a  scowl. 

Irina  continued  to  laugh. 

"  Come,  what  is  it? "  he  repeated,  and 
stamped  his  foot. 

He  felt  insulted,  exasperated,  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  the  beauty  of  this  woman,  who  stood  there 
before  him  so  lightly  and  so  boldly,  involuntarily 
surprised  him  ...  it  tormented  him.  He  saw 

178 


SMOKE 

everything— all  her  charms,  even  the  rosy  gleam 
of  the  elegant  nails  on  the  delicate  fingers,  which 
firmly  clasped  the  dark  bronze  of  the  heavy 
candlestick— even  that  gleam  did  not  escape  him 
.  .  .  and  the  insult  ate  still  more  deeply  into  his 
heart.  But  Irina  went  on  laughing. 

'What?  You?  You  are  jealous?"— she  said, 
at  last,  and  turning  her  back  on  her  husband,  she 
left  the  room.— "He  is  jealous!  "—was  audible 
outside  the  door,  and  again  her  laughter  rang 
out. 

Ratmiroff  gazed  gloomily  after  his  wife,— 
even  then  he  could  not  fail  to  observe  the  en- 
chanting grace  of  her  figure,  of  her  movements, 
—and  crushing  his  cigarette  with  a  heavy  blow 
against  the  marble  slab  of  the  chimney-piece,  he 
flung  it  far  from  him.  His  cheeks  suddenly 
paled,  a  convulsive  quiver  flitted  across  his  chin, 
and  his  eyes  wandered  dully  and  fiercely  over 
the  floor,  as  though  in  search  of  something.  .  .  . 
Every  trace  of  elegance  had  vanished  from  his 
face.  That  must  have  been  the  sort  of  expression 
it  had  assumed  when  he  flogged  the  white  Rus- 
sian peasants. 

But  Litvinoff  came  to  himself  in  his  own  room, 
and  seating  himself  on  a  chair  by  the  table,  he 
clutched  his  head  in  both  hands,  and,  for  a  long 
time,  remained  motionless..  He  rose,  at  last, 
opened  a  drawer,  and  taking  out  a  portfolio, 
drew  from  an  inner  pocket  of  it  Tatyana's  photo- 

179 


SMOKE 

graph.  Her  face,  distorted  and,  as  usual,  made 
to  look  older  by  the  photograph,  gazed  sadly  at 
him.  Litvinoff's  betrothed  was  a  young  girl  of 
Great  Russian  descent,  golden-haired,  rather 
plump,  and  with  somewhat  heavy  features,  but 
with  a  wonderful  expression  of  goodness  and 
gentleness  in  the  light -brown  eyes,  and  a  tender 
white  brow,  upon  which  the  sunshine  seemed  al- 
ways to  linger.  For  a  long  time  Litvinoff  did 
not  take  his  eyes  from  the  picture :  then  he  softly 
pushed  it  from  him,  and  again  clasped  his  head 
with  both  hands.  "  All  is  over!  " — he  whispered 
at  last.— "Irina!  Irina!" 

It  was  only  now,  only  at  this  moment,  that  he 
comprehended  that  he  was  irrevocably,  madly  in 
love  with  her,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  on  the 
very  day  of  his  first  meeting  with  her  at  the  Old 
Chateau,  that  he  never  had  ceased  to  love  her. 
And  yet  how  astonished  he  would  have  been,  how 
incredulous;  how  he  would  have  laughed  if  any 
one  had  told  him  that  a  few  hours  earlier. 

"But  Tanya,  Tanya,  my  God!  Tanya!  4 
Tanya!  "  —he  kept  repeating,  with  compunction; 
but  Irina's  image  kept  rising  up  before  him  in  her 
black  gown  that  looked  like  mourning,  with  the 
radiant  tranquillity  of  conquest  on  her  marble- 
white  face. 


180 


XVI 

LITVINOFF  did  not  sleep  all  night  long,  and  did 
not  undress.  He  felt  very  heavy  at  heart.  As 
an  honourable  and  upright  man,  he  understood 
the  importance  of  obligations,  the  sacredness  of 
duty,  and  would  have  regarded  it  as  a  disgrace 
to  deal  disingenuously  with  himself,  with  his 
weakness,  with  his  conduct.  At  first  a  torpor  de- 
scended upon  him:  for  a  long  time  he  could  not 
free  himself  from  the  weight  of  a  persistent,  semi- 
conscious, obscure  sensation;  then  terror  took 
possession  of  him  at  the  thought  that  the  future, 
his  future  so  nearly  won,  was  again  enveloped  in 
gloom,  that  his  house— his  house  which  had  but 
just  been  erected — was  reeling  to  its  fall.  .  .  He 
began  pitilessly  to  upbraid  himself,  but  imme- 
diately put  a  stop  to  his  own  outbursts.  '  What 
dastardliness  is  this?  "—he  thought.—"  This  is  no 
time  for  reproaches;  I  must  act;  Tanya  is  my 
affianced  bride,  she  has  trusted  my  love,  my  hon- 
our, we  are  united  forever,  and  we  cannot,  we 
must  not  part."  He  set  before  himself,  in  vivid 
colours,  all  Tatyana's  qualities,  he  mentally  sorted 
them  over  and  enumerated  them;  he  tried  to 
arouse  in  himself  emotion  and  tenderness. 

181 


SMOKE 

'  There  is  but  one  thing  left  to  do,"— he  thought 
again:— "to  flee,  flee  instantly,  without  waiting 
for  her  arrival,  to  flee  to  meet  her,  even  if  I  shall 
suff er,  even  if  I  shall  torture  myself  with  Tanya, 
— which  is  improbable, — but,  in  any  case,  it  is  use- 
less to  argue  about  that,  to  take  that  into  consid- 
eration; I  must  do  my  duty,  even  if  I  die  after- 
ward!—" But  thou  hast  no  right  to  deceive  her," 
another  voice  whispered  to  him,  "  thou  hast  not 
the  right  to  conceal  from  her  the  change  which 
has  taken  place  in  thy  feelings;  perchance,  on 
learning  that  thou  hast  fallen  in  love  with  an- 
other, she  will  not  wish  to  become  thy  wife? " 
"  Nonsense!  Nonsense!  "  he  retorted:—"  All  that 
is  sophistry,  shameful  guile,  false  conscientious- 
ness; I  have  no  right  not  to  keep  my  plighted 
word,  that 's  how  the  case  stands.  Well,  very 
good.  .  .  Then  I  must  go  away  from  here  with- 
out seeing  her.  .  ." 

But  at  this  point  Litvinoff's  heart  contracted, 
a  chill  overcame  him,  a  physical  chill:  a  momen- 
tary shiver  ran  through  his  body,  his  teeth  chat- 
tered. He  stretched  and  yawned  as  though  in  a 
fever.  Without  insisting  further  on  his  last 
thought,  stifling  that  thought,  turning  away  from 
it,  he  began  to  feel  perplexed  and  astonished  that 
he  could  again  have  .  .  .  again  have  fallen  in 
love  with  that  depraved,  worldly  creature, 
with  all  her  repulsive,  hostile  surroundings.  He 
tried  to  ask  himself:  "But  hast  thou  fallen  thor- 

182 


SMOKE 

oughly,  actually  in  love? "  and  could  only  wave 
his  hand  in  despair.  He  still  continued  to  feel 
surprised  and  perplexed,  and  lo!  there  before 
him,  as  though  from  a  soft,  fragrant  mist,  started 
forth  the  bewitching  countenance,  the  starry  eye- 
lashes were  raised— and  silently,  irresistibly,  the 
enchanting  eyes  penetrated  his  heart,  and  the 
voice  rang  out  sweetly,  and  the  gleaming  shoul- 
ders—the shoulders  of  a  young  empress — ex- 
haled the  freshness  and  the  fervour  of  tender- 
ness. .  .  . 

TOWABD  morning  a  decision  matured,  at  last,  in 
Litvinoff's  soul.  He  decided  to  set  out,  on  that 
very  day,  to  meet  Tatyana,  and  in  a  final  inter- 
view with  Irina  to  tell  her,  if  it  could  not  be 
avoided,  the  whole  truth— and  part  from  her 
forever. 

He  arranged  and  packed  his  things,  waited  un- 
til twelve  o'clock,  and  went  to  her.  But  at  the 
sight  of  her  half-veiled  windows,  Litvinoff's 
heart  seemed  to  sink  within  him  ...  he  lacked 
the  courage  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the  hotel. 
He  walked  several  times  up  and  down  Lichten- 
thaler  Avenue.  "  My  respects  to  you,  Mr.  Litvi- 
noff !  "—suddenly  rang  out  a  mocking  voice  from 
the  heights  of  a  swiftly-rolling  dog-cart.  Litvf- 
noff  raised  his  eyes,  and  beheld  General  Ratmf- 
roff  seated  beside  Prince  M.,  a  well-known  sports- 
man and  lover  of  English  equipages  and  horses. 

183 


SMOKE 

The  Prince  was  driving,  but  the  general  bent  to 
one  side  and  displayed  his  teeth,  lifting  his  hat 
high  above  his  head.  Litvinoff  bowed  to  him, 
and  instantly,  as  though  in  obedience  to  a  secret 
command,  set  out  at  a  run  for  Irina. 

She  was  at  home.  He  ordered  the  servants  to 
announce  him:  he  was  immediately  received. 
When  he  entered  she  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  She  wore  a  loose  morning  gown, 
with  wide,  flowing  sleeves ;  her  face,  pale  as  on  the 
preceding  day,  but  not  fresh  as  it  had  then  been, 
expressed  weariness ;  the  languid  smile  with  which 
she  greeted  her  guest  still  more  clearly  defined 
that  expression.  She  offered  him  her  hand,  and 
gazed  at  him  affectionately  but  abstractedly. 

'  Thank  you  for  coming," — she  began,  in  a 
mournful  voice,  and  sank  into^an  arm-chair.—  "  I 
do  not  feel  quite  well  to-day ;  I  passed  a  bad  night. 
Well,  what  have  you  to  say  about  last  evening? 
Was  not  I  right?" 

Litvinoff  seated  himself. 

"  I  have  come  to  you,  Irina  Pavlovna,"— he 
began  .  .  . 

She  instantly  straightened  herself  up  and 
turned  round;  her  eyes  fairly  bored  into  Lit- 
vinoff. 

'What  is  the  matter  with  you?"— she  ex- 
claimed.— "  You  are  as  pale  as  a  corpse — you 
are  ill.  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  " 

Litvinoff  became  confused. 
184. 


SMOKE 

"  With  me,  Irina  Pavlovna?  " 
'  You  have  received  bad  news  ?    A  catastrophe 
has  happened,  tell  me,  tell  me.  .  ." 

Litvinoff,  in  his  turn,  stared  at  Irina. 

"  I  have  received  no  bad  news,"— he  said,  not 
without  an  effort:—"  but  a  catastrophe  has  really 
happened,  a  great  catastrophe  .  .  .  and  it  has 
brought  me  to  you." 

"A  catastrophe?    What  is  it?  " 

"  Such  a  one that  .  .  .  ." 

Litvinoff  tried  to  go  on  ...  and  could  not. 
But  he  clasped  his  hands  so  hard  that  the  fingers 
cracked.  Irina  bent  forward,  and  seemed  turned 
to  stone. 

"  Akh!  I  love  you!"— burst  at  last  in  a  dull 
groan  from  Litvinoff's  breast,  and  he  turned 
away,  as  though  desirous  of  hiding  his  face. 

"  What,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  you  .  .  .  ." 
Irina  also  was  unable  to  finish  her  phrase,  and 
leaning  back  in  her  chair,  she  raised  both  hands 
to  her  face. — "  You  .  .  .  love  me?  " 

'  Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  yes," — he  repeated  with 
exasperation,  turning  his  face  more  and  more 
aside. 

All  became  silent  in  the  room :  a  butterfly  which 
had  flown  in,  agitated  its  wings  and  struggled  be- 
tween the  curtain  and  the  window. 

LitvinofF  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"This,  Irina  Pavlovna,"— he  began:— "this 
is  the  catastrophe  which  has  .  .  .  stunned  me, 

185 


SMOKE 

which  I  ought  to  have  foreseen  and  avoided,  if  I 
had  not  as  in  former  days,  in  the  Moscow  time, 
fallen  immediately  into  the  whirlpool.  Evidently, 
it  has  pleased  fate  to  take  me  again  unawares, 
and  experience  again,  through  you,  those  tor- 
ments which,  it  would  have  seemed,  ought  never 
more  to  have  been  repeated.  .  .  But  I  have  re- 
sisted .  .  have  tried  to  resist  .  .  in  vain;  yes, 
plainly,  what  is  fated  to  be  cannot  be  avoided. 
But  I  am  telling  you  all  this  for  the  purpose  of 
putting  an  end,  as  soon  as  possible  to  this  .  .  . 
this  tragi-comedy,"— he  added  with  a  fresh  access 
of  exasperation  and  shame. 

Again  Litvinoff  fell  silent;  the  butterfly  con- 
tinued to  struggle  and  flutter.  Irina  did  not  re- 
move her  hands  from  her  face. 

"  And  you  are  not  deceiving  yourself?  "  —her 
whisper  became  audible  from  beneath  those  white, 
seemingly  bloodless  hands. 

"  I  am  not  deceiving  myself,"— replied  Litvi- 
noff in  a  hollow  voice.—  "  I  love  you  as  I  have 
never  loved,  or  loved  any  one  but  you.  I  am  not 
going  to  reproach  you :  that  would  be  too  foolish ; 
I  will  not  repeat  to  you  that  perhaps  nothing  of 
this  sort  would  have  happened  had  you  behaved 
differently  toward  me.  .  .  .  Of  course,  I  alone 
am  to  blame,  my  self-confidence  has  been  my  un- 
doing; but  I  am  rightly  chastised,  and  you  could 
not  possibly  have  expected  this.  Of  course,  you 
did  not  take  into  consideration  that  it  would  have 

186 


SMOKE 

been  far  less  dangerous  for  me  if  you  had  not  felt 
your  fault  so  vividly  .  .  .  your  imaginary  fault 
toward  me,  and  had  not  wished  to  atone  for  it 
.  . .  but  what  is  done  cannot  be  undone,  of  course. 
.  .  I  only  wanted  to  explain  to  you  my  position : 
it  is  sufficiently  painful  as  it  is.  .  .  At  all  events, 
there  will  be  no  misunderstanding,  as  you  say, 
but  the  frankness  of  my  confession  will,  I  hope, 
mitigate  that  feeling  of  insult  which  you  cannot 
fail  to  feel." 

Litvinoff  spoke  without  raising  his  eyes;  and 
if  he  had  glanced  at  Irfna,  still  he  could  not  have 
seen  what  was  going  on  in  her  face,  because,  as 
before,  she  did  not  remove  her  hands.  Neverthe- 
less, what  was  taking  place  on  her  face  would,  in 
all  probability,  have  amazed  him:  it  expressed 
both  fear  and  joy,  and  a  certain  blissful  exhaus- 
tion and  agitation;  the  eyes  barely  glimmered 
beneath  the  drooping  lids,  and  the  long-drawn, 
broken  breathing  chilled  the  lips  which  were 
parted  as  though  in  thirst.  .  .  . 

Litvinoff  maintained  silence,  waited  for  a  re- 
ply, a  sound.  .  .  Nothing! 

"  But  one  thing  is  left  for  me  to  do,"— he  be- 
gan again: — "  to  go  away;  I  am  come  to  bid  you 
farewell." 

Irina  slowly  dropped  her  hands  upon  her 
knees. 

"  But  I  remember,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"- 
she  began:— "  that  .  .  that  person,  of  whom  you 

187 


SMOKE 

spoke  to  me,  was  to  come  hither.     You  are  ex- 
pecting her? " 

'  Yes;  but  I  shall  write  to  her  .  .  .  she  will 
stop  somewhere  on  the  way  .  .  in  Heidelberg, 
for  instance." 

"  Ah !  In  Heidelberg.  .  .  Yes.  .  It  is  pleasant 
there.  .  .  But  all  this  must  disturb  your  plans. 
Are  you  sure,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,  that  you 
are  not  exaggerating,  et  que  ce  nest  pas  une 
fausse  alar  me?  " 

Irma  spoke  quietly,  almost  coldly,  and  with 
little  pauses,  and  glances  aside,  in  the  direction  of 
the  window.  Litvinoff  did  not  answer  her  last 
question. 

"  But  why  have  you  alluded  to  the  insult?  " 
she  went  on.—"  I  am  not  insulted  .  .  .  oh,  no! 
And  if  either  of  us  is  to  blame,  then,  in  any  case, 
it  is  not  you;  not  you  alone.  .  .  Remember  our 
last  conversations,  and  you  will  be  convinced  that 
it  is  not  you." 

"  I  have  never  had  any  doubt  of  your  magna- 
nimity,"— ejaculated  Litvinoff  through  his  teeth: 

"but  I  should  like  to  know:  do  you  approve 
of  my  intention? " 

"To  go  away?" 

"  Yes." 

Irma  continued  to  gaze  to  one  side. 

"  At  the  first  moment  your  intention  seemed 
to  me  to  be  premature  .  .  .  but  now  I  have 
thought  over  what  you  said  .  .  .  and  if  you 

188 


really  are  not  making  a  mistake,  then  I  suppose 
that  you  ought  to  go.  It  will  be  better  so  ... 
better  for  both  of  us." 

Irina's  voice  had  grown  more  and  more 
quiet,  and  her  very  speech  became  slower  and 
slower. 

"  General  Ratmiroff,  really,  might  notice  it," 
— Litvinoff  began.  .  .  . 

Irma's  eyes  dropped  again,  and  something 
strange  flickered  around  her  lips  .  .  flickered 
and  vanished. 

"  No,  you  do  not  understand  me,"— she  inter- 
rupted him.—"  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  hus- 
band. Why  should  I?  There  would  be  nothing 
for  him  to  notice.  But,  I  repeat  it:  separation 
is  indispensable  for  both  of  us." 

Litvinoff  took  up  his  hat,  which  had  fallen  to 
the  floor. 

"  Everything  is  over,"— he  thought:—"  I  must 
go." — "  And  so  it  only  remains  for  me  to  take 
leave  of  you,  Irina  Pavlovna,"— he  said  aloud, 
and  suddenly  dread  fell  upon  him,  exactly  as 
though  he  were  on  the  point  of  pronouncing  his 
own  sentence.—"  I  can  only  hope  that  you  will 
not  bear  me  any  ill-will  ....  and  that  if,  some- 
times, we  ...  ." 

Again  Irina  interrupted  him: 

"  Wait,  Grigory  Mikhaflovitch,  do  not  bid  me 
farewell  yet.  That  would  be  over-hasty." 

Something  quivered  within  Litvinoff,  but  a 
189 


SMOKE 

burning  bitterness  surged  up  on  the  instant,  and 
with  redoubled  force,  in  his  heart. 

"But    I    cannot   remain!"— he   exclaimed.— 
"To  what  end?     Why  prolong  this  anguish?" 

"  Do  not  bid  me  farewell  yet," — repeated 
Irina.  .  "  I  must  see  you  once  more.  .  .  Again 
the  same  sort  of  dumb  parting  as  in  Moscow,— 
no,  I  will  not  have  that.  You  may  go  now,  but 
you  must  promise  me,  give  me  your  word  of  hon- 
our, that  you  will  not  take  your  departure  with- 
out having  seen  me  once  more." 

"You  wish  that?" 

"  I  demand  it.  If  you  go  away  without  having 
taken  leave  of  me,  I  will  never,  never  forgive 
you.  Do  you  hear:  never!"  "It  is  strange!" 
—she  added,  as  though  speaking  to  herself:—  "  I 
cannot  possibly  realise  that  I  am  in  Baden.  .  .  I 
keep  feeling  that  I  am  in  Moscow.  .  .  Go.  ." 

Litvinoff  rose. 

"  Irina  Pavlovna,"  he  said, — "  give  me  your 
hand." 

Irina  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  will  not  bid  you  fare- 
well. .  ." 

"  I  am  not  asking  it  for  a  farewell.  .  ." 

Irina  was  on  the  point  of  giving  him  her  hand, 
but  glanced  at  Litvinoff  for  the  first  time  since 
his  confession,— and  drew  it  back. 

"  No,  no,"— she  whispered,—  "  I  will  not  give 
you  my  hand.  No  .  .  .  no.  Go." 

190 


SMOKE 

Litvmoff  bowed  and  left  the  room.  He  could 
not  know  why  Irina  had  refused  him  a  last 

friendly  pressure He  could  not  know 

that  she  was  afraid. 

He  left  the  room,  and  Irina  again  sank  down 
in  the  arm-chair,  and  again  covered  her  face. 


191 


XVII 

LITVINOFF  did  not  return  home:  he  went  off  to 
the  mountains,  and  making  his  way  into  the  den- 
sity of  the  forest,  threw  himself  on  the  earth,  face 
downward,  and  lay  there  for  about  an  hour.  He 
did  not  suffer,  he  did  not  weep;  he  lay  in  a  sort 
of  painful,  agonising  swoon.  Never  before  had 
he  experienced  anything  of  the  sort :  there  was  an 
intolerably  aching,  gnawing  sensation  of  empti- 
ness, of  emptiness  in  himself,  around  him  every- 
where. .  .  He  did  not  think  either  of  Irina  or  of 
Tatyana.  He  felt  one  thing :  the  blow  had  fallen, 
and  life  had  been  cut  in  twain  like  a  rope,  and  he 
was  entirely  drawn  forward  and  seized  upon  by 
something  unknown,  yet  cold.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  to  him  that  a  whirlwind  had  descended 
upon  him,  and  he  felt  its  swift  gyrations  and  the 
confused  beatings  of  its  dark  pinions.  .  .  But  his 
decision  did  not  waver.  .  Remain  in  Baden  .  .  . 
such  a  thing  was  not  even  to  be  mentioned.  Men- 
tally, he  had  already  taken  his  departure:  he  was 
already  seated  in  the  rattling  and  smoking  rail- 
way-carriage, and  fleeing,  fleeing  into  the  dumb, 
dead  distance.  He  rose  up,  at  last,  and  leaning 
his  head  against  a  tree,  remained  motionless ;  only 

192 


SMOKE 

with  one  hand,  without  himself  being  conscious 
of  it,  he  had  grasped  the  highest  frond  of  a  fern, 
and  was  swaying  it  to  and  fro  with  a  regular  beat. 
The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  aroused  him 
from  his  torpor ;  two  charcoal-burners,  with  large 
sacks  on  their  shoulders,  were  making  their  way 
along  the  steep  path.  "  It  is  time! "  whispered 
LitvinofF,  and  followed  the  charcoal-burners 
down  the  path  to  the  town,  turned  into  the  rail- 
way building,  and  despatched  a  telegram  to  Tat- 
yana's  aunt,  Kapitolina  Markovna.  In  this  tele- 
gram he  informed  her  of  his  immediate  departure, 
and  appointed  a  meeting  with  her  in  Schrader's 
hotel,  in  Heidelberg.  "  If  an  end  is  to  be  made, 
it  had  better  be  made  at  once,"— he  thought;— 
"  there  is  no  use  in  deferring  it  until  to-morrow." 
Then  he  entered  the  gaming-room,  with  dull  curi- 
osity stared  two  or  three  players  in  the  face, 
descried  from  afar  Bindasoff's  hideous  nape, 
Pishtchalkin's  irreproachable  face,  and,  after 
standing  for  a  little  while  under  the  colonnade,  he 
betook  himself,  without  haste,  to  Irina.  It  was 
not  at  the  instigation  of  a  sudden,  involuntary 
impulse  that  he  went  to  her;  when  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  depart,  he  had  also  made  it  up  to 
keep  the  word  he  had  pledged,  and  to  see  her  once 
again.  He  entered  the  hotel  without  being  per- 
ceived by  the  door-porter,  ascended  the  staircase 
without  meeting  any  one,  and,  without  knocking 
at  the  door,  mechanically  pushed  it  open,  and  en- 

193 


SMOKE 

tered  the  room.  In  the  room,  in  the  same  arm- 
chair, in  the  same  gown,  in  the  same  attitude  as 
three  hours  before,  sat  Irina.  .  .  It  was  evident 
that  she  had  not  stirred  from  the  spot,  had  not 
moved  during  all  that  time.  She  slowly  raised 
her  head,  and  on  perceiving  Litvmoff,  shuddered 
all  over,  and  grasped  the  arms  of  the  chair. — 
'  You  have  frightened  me," — she  whispered. 

Litvinoff  regarded  her  with  speechless  amaze- 
ment. The  expression  of  her  face,  of  her  sunken 
eyes,  impressed  him. 

Irina  smiled  in  a  forced  way  and  adjusted  her 
hair,  which  had  fallen  out  of  curl. 

"  It  does  not  matter.  .  .  I,  really,  I  do  not 
know.  .  I  think  I  have  been  asleep  here." 

"  Excuse  me,  Irina  Pavlovna," — began  Litvi- 
noff,— "  I  entered  without  being  announced.  .  I 
wished  to  comply  with  what  you  were  pleased  to 
demand  of  me.  And,  as  I  am  going  away  to- 
day .  .  ." 

"  To-day?  But  I  thought  you  told  me  that  you 
wished  first  to  write  a  letter.  .  ." 

"  I  have  sent  a  telegram." 

"  Ah!  You  found  it  necessary  to  make  haste. 
And  when  do  you  leave?  At  what  o'clock,  I 
mean? " 

"  At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening." 

"  Ah!  At  seven  o'clock!  And  you  have  come 
to  say  farewell? " 

"  Yes,  Irina  Pavlovna,  to  say  farewell." 
194 


SMOKE 

Irina  remained  silent  for  a  while. 

"  I  must  thank  you,  Grigory  Mikhaflitch ; 
you  probably  did  not  find  it  easy  to  come 
hither." 

"  No,  Irina  Pavlovna,  it  was  very  far  from 
easy." 

"Life  is  not  easy,  altogether,  Grigory  Mi- 
khaflitch; what  do  you  think?  " 

'  That  depends  on  the  person,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna." 

Again  Irina  remained  silent  for  a  space,  as 
though  in  meditation. 

'  You  have  shown  your  friendship  for  me  by 
coming," — she  said,  at  last. — "  I  thank  you. 
And,  altogether,  I  entirely  approve  of  your  de- 
cision to  make  an  end  of  it  all  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible, .  .  .  because  every  delay  .  .  .  because  .  .  . 
because  I,  that  very  same  I  whom  you  accused  of 
coquetry,  whom  you  called  a  comedian, — I  be- 
lieve that  was  what  you  called  me?  .  ." 

Irina  rose  hastily,  and  seating  herself  in  an- 
other arm-chair,  bent  over  and  pressed  her  face 
and  hands  against  the  edge  of  the  table.  .  . 

"  Because  I  love  you  .  .  ."  she  whispered, 
through  her  tightly-clasped  fingers. 

LitvinofF  staggered  back,  as  though  some  one 
had  struck  him  in  the  breast.  Irina  sadly  turned 
her  head  away  from  him,  as  though  desirous,  in 
her  turn,  of  hiding  her  face  from  him,  and  laid 
it  on  the  table. 

195 


"  Yes,  I  love  you.  ...  I  love  you  .  .  .  and 
you  know  it." 

"I?  I  know  it? " — Litvinoff  uttered,  at  last. 
— "  I? " 

'  Well,  and  now  you  see," — pursued  Irina, — 
"  that  you  really  must  go,  that  there  must  be  no 
delay,— that  we,  that  I  can  suffer  no  delay.  It  is 
dangerous,  it  is  terrible.  .  .  Good-bye ! "  she 
added,  rising  impetuously  from  her  chair. 

She  took  several  steps  in  the  direction  of  the 
door  to  her  boudoir,  and  thrusting  her  hand  be- 
hind her  back,  she  hastily  moved  it  through  the 
air,  as  though  desirous  of  encountering  and  press- 
ing Litvinoff's  hand;  but  he  stood,  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot,  at  a  distance.  .  .  .  Once  more 
she  said,  "  Farewell,  forget,"  and  without  glanc- 
ing behind  her,  fled  from  the  room. 

Litvinoff  was  left  alone,  and  still  could  not  re- 
cover himself.  He  came  to  his  senses  at  last, 
swiftly  approached  the  door  of  the  boudoir,  utter- 
ing Irina's  name  once,  twice,  thrice.  .  .  He  had 
already  laid  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  door. .  . 
The  ringing  voice  of  Ratmiroff  made  itself  audi- 
ble from  the  porch  of  the  hotel. 

Litvinoff  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and 
went  out  to  the  staircase.  The  elegant  general 
was  standing  in  front  of  the  porter's  lodge,  and 
explaining  to  him,  in  imperfect  German,  that  he 
wished  to  hire  a  carriage  for  the  whole  of  the 
following  day.  On  catching  sight  of  Litvinoff, 

196 


SMOKE 

he  again  raised  his  hat  abnormally  high,  and 
again  expressed  his  "  respect  ":  he  was  evidently 
scoffing  at  him,  but  Litvinoff  cared  nothing  for 
that.  He  barely  returned  RatmirofF's  salutation, 
and  on  reaching  his  own  quarters,  he  paused  in 
front  of  his  trunk,  already  packed  and  closed. 
His  head  was  in  a  whirl,  and  his  heart  was  quiver- 
ing like  a  chord.  What  was  to  be  done  now?  And 
could  he  have  foreseen  this? 

Yes,  he  had  foreseen  it,  incredible  as  it  might 
seem.  It  had  stunned  him  like  a  clap  of  thunder, 
but  he  had  foreseen  it,  although  he  had  not  dared 
to  admit  it.  But  he  had  known  nothing  with  cer- 
tainty. Everything  had  got  jumbled  up  within 
him;  he  had  lost  the  thread  of  his  own  thoughts. 
He  recalled  Moscow,  he  recalled  how  "  it "  had 
descended  upon  him  then  like  a  sudden  hurricane. 
He  felt  suffocated:  ecstasy— but  a  desolate, 
hopeless  ecstasy — choked  and  rent  his  breast. 
Xot  for  anything  in  the  world  would  he  have  con- 
sented that  the  words  uttered  by  Irina  should  not 
really  have  been  uttered  by  her.  .  .  But  what 
then?  All  the  same,  those  words  could  not  alter 
the  resolution  he  had  already  taken.  As  before, 
it  did  not  waver,  but  held  firmly  like  an  anchor 
which  has  been  cast.  Litvinoff  had  lost  the 
thread  of  his  thoughts  .  .  .  yes;  but  his  will  re- 
mained with  him  still,  and  he  gave  himself  orders 
as  he  would  have  given  them  to  a  strange  man, 
his  subordinate.  He  rang  the  bell  for  a  waiter, 

197 


SMOKE 

ordered  his  bill  to  be  brought,  engaged  a  seat  in 
the  evening  omnibus:  he  deliberately  cut  off  all 
his  roads.  "  Even  if  I  die  there  afterward,"  he 
kept  repeating,  as  he  had  done  during  the  pre- 
ceding sleepless  night;  this  phrase  was  particu- 
larly to  his  taste.—  "  Even  if  I  die  there  after- 
ward," he  repeated,  as  he  slowly  paced  to  and 
fro  in  his  chamber,  only  closing  his  eyes  and  ceas- 
ing to  breathe  from  time  to  time  involuntarily 
when  those  words,  those  words  of  Irina  invaded 
his  soul,  and  seared  it  as  with  fire.  "  Evidently, 
one  does  not  love  twice,"  he  thought:  "another 
life  has  entered  into  yours,  you  have  admitted 
it— you  cannot  rid  yourself  of  that  poison  to  the 
end,  you  cannot  break  those  threads!  Just  so; 
but  what  does  that  prove?  Happiness.  .  .  Is 
that  possible?  You  love  her,  let  us  assume  .  .  . 
and  she  .  .  .  she  loves  you.  .  ." 

But  at  this  point  he  was  again  compelled  to 
take  himself  in  hand.  As  a  wayfarer,  in  a  dark 
night,  who  descries  ahead  of  him  a  tiny  light  and 
fears  to  lose  his  road,  does  not  remove  his  eyes 
from  it  for  an  instant,  so  also  Litvinoff  unremit- 
tingly concentrated  the  full  force  of  his  attention 
upon  one  point,  upon  one  goal.  To  present  him- 
self to  his  affianced  bride,  and  even  not  actually 
to  his  bride  (he  tried  not  to  think  of  her) ,  but  in 
the  room  of  the  Heidelberg  hotel— that  is  what 
stood  before  him  steadfastly,  as  his  guiding  light. 
What  was  to  come  afterward  he  did  not  know, 

198 


SMOKE 

and  did  not  wish  to  know.  .  .  .  One  thing  was 
indubitable :  he  would  not  turn  back.  "  Even  if  I 
die  there,"  he  repeated  for  the  tenth  time,  and 
glanced  at  his  watch. 

A  quarter  past  six !  How  long  he  still  had  to 
wait !  Again  he  strode  back  and  forth.  The  sun 
was  declining  to  its  setting,  the  sky  was  glowing 
red  over  the  trees,  and  a  crimson  twilight  fell 
through  the  narrow  windows  into  his  darkening 
room.  All  at  once  it  seemed  to  Litvinoff  as 
though  the  door  had  been  opened  softly  and 
swiftly  behind  him,  and  as  swiftly  closed  again. 
.  .  He  turned  round ;  by  the  door,  enveloped  in  a 
black  mantilla,  stood  a  woman.  .  . 

"Irina!"  he  cried,  and  clasped  his  hands.  .  . 

She  raised  her  head,  and  fell  upon  his  breast. 

Two  hours  later  he  was  seated  on  his  divan.  His 
trunk  stood  in  a  corner,  open  and  empty,  and  on 
the  table,  amid  articles  scattered  there  in  confu- 
sion, lay  a  letter  from  Tatyana  which  Litvinoff 
had  just  received.  She  wrote  him  that  she  had 
decided  to  hasten  her  departure  from  Dresden, 
as  her  aunt's  health  was  entirely  restored,  and 
that  if  no  obstacles  intervened  they  would  both 
arrive  in  Baden  at  twelve  o'clock  on  the  following 
day,  and  hoped  that  he  would  meet  them  at  the 
railway  station.  Litvinoff  had  engaged  apart- 
ments for  them  in  the  same  hotel  where  he  was 
stopping. 

199 


SMOKE 

That  same  evening  he  sent  a  note  to  Irina,  and 
on  the  following  morning  he  received  an  answer 
from  her.  "  A  day  sooner  or  a  day  later,"— she 
wrote,  "  it  was  inevitable.  I  repeat  to  thee  what 
I  said  last  night :  my  life  is  in  thy  hands,  do  with 
me  as  thou  wilt.  I  do  not  wish  to  put  any  re- 
straint upon  thy  freedom,  but  thou  must  know 
that,  in  case  of  necessity,  I  will  abandon  every- 
thing, and  will  follow  thee  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
We  shall  see  each  other  to-morrow,  shall  we  not? 
Thy  Irina." 

The  last  two  words  were  written  in  a  large, 
bold,  decided  chirography. 


200 


XVIII 

AMONG  the  persons  who  assembled,  on  the  18th  of 
August,  about  twelve  o'clock,  on  the  platform  of 
the  railway  station  was  Litvinoff.  Not  long  be- 
fore he  had  met  Irina.  She  was  sitting  in  an  open 
carriage  with  her  husband  and  another  person,  a 
gentleman  already  elderly.  She  had  seen  Litvi- 
noff,  and  he  had  perceived  it:  something  dark 
had  flitted  across  her  eyes,  but  she  immediately 
concealed  herself  from  him  with  her  parasol. 

A  strange  change  had  taken  place  in  him  since 
the  preceding  day— in  his  whole  exterior,  in  his 
movements,  in  the  expression  of  his  face;  and  he 
himself  felt  that  he  was  another  man.  His  self- 
confidence  had  vanished,  his  composure  had  van- 
ished also,  along  with  his  self-respect;  nothing 
was  left  of  his  former  spiritual  state.  Recent  in- 
effaceable impressions  had  shut  out  everything 
else.  A  certain  unprecedented  sensation,  strong, 
sweet— and  malign,  had  made  its  appearance;  a 
mysterious  guest  had  made  his  way  into  the  sanc- 
tuary, and  had  taken  possession  of  it,  and  had  lain 
down  therein  silently,  but  at  full  length,  as  master 
of  the  new  domicile.  Litvinoff  no  longer  felt 
ashamed,  he  was  afraid— and,  at  the  same  time, 

201 


SMOKE 

a  desperate  hardihood  was  kindled  within  him; 
this  mixture  of  conflicting  feelings  is  familiar  to 
captives,  to  the  conquered;  it  is  not  unknown  also 
to  the  thief,  after  he  has  robbed  a  church.  But 
Litvinoff  had  been  conquered— conquered  sud- 
denly; .  .  .  and  what  had  become  of  his  honour? 

The  train  was  a  few  minutes  late.  Litvinoff's 
languor  passed  into  torturing  anguish:  he  could 
not  stand  still  in  one  place,  and,  deathly  pale,  he 
squeezed  and  forced  his  way  among  the  people. 
"  My  God,"  he  thought,  "  if  I  might  have  just 
one  more  day.  .  ."  His  first  glance  at  Tanya, 
Tanya's  first  glance  .  .  .  that  was  what  alarmed 
him,  that  was  what  he  must  get  through  with  as 
speedily  as  possible.  .  .  And  afterward?  After- 
ward—come what  might!  .  .  .  He  no  longer  ar- 
rived at  any  decisions,  he  no  longer  answered  for 
himself.  His  phrase  of  yesterday  flashed  pain- 
fully through  his  head.  .  .  And  that  is  how  he  is 
meeting  Tanya.  .  . 

A  prolonged  whistle  resounded  at  last,  a  dull 
roar,  which  momentarily  increased,  became  audi- 
ble, and  rolling  slowly  from  behind  the  road- 
gates,  the  locomotive  made  its  appearance.  The 
crowd  advanced  to  meet  it,  and  Litvinoff  ad- 
vanced after  it,  dragging  his  feet  like  a  con- 
demned man.  Faces,  ladies'  hats,  began  to  show 
themselves  from  the  carriages,  in  one  small  win- 
dow a  white  handkerchief  began  to  gleam.  .  . 
Kapitolina  Markovna  was  waving  it.  .  .  It  was 

202 


SMOKE 

over;  she  had  seen  Litvinoff,  and  he  had  recog- 
nised her.  The  train  came  to  a  standstill,  Litvi- 
noff  rushed  to  the  door  and  opened  it:  Tatyana 
was  standing  by  the  side  of  her  aunt,  and  smiling 
brightly,  offered  him  her  hand. 

He  helped  them  both  to  alight,  uttered  a  few 
courteous  words,  incomplete  and  obscure,  and  im- 
mediately began  to  bustle  about,  began  to  collect 
their  tickets,  their  travelling-bags,  their  plaids, 
ran  off  to  hunt  up  a  porter,  called  a  carriage; 
other  people  were  bustling  about  around  him,  and 
he  rejoiced  at  their  presence,  their  noise  and  their 
shouts.  Tatyana  stepped  a  little  to  one  side,  and 
without  ceasing  to  smile,  calmly  awaited  the  con- 
clusion of  his  hasty  preparations.  Kapitolina 
Markovna,  on  the  contrary,  could  not  stand  still; 
she  would  not  believe  that  she  had  at  last  got  to 
Baden.  She  suddenly  cried  out:  "  And  the  um- 
brellas? Tanya,  where  are  the  umbrellas?"  not 
noticing  that  she  was  holding  them  firmly  under 
her  arm;  then  she  began  to  bid  a  loud  and  pro- 
longed farewell  to  another  lady,  whose  acquain- 
tance she  had  made  during  the  journey  from 
Heidelberg  to  Baden.  The  lady  was  none  other 
than  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  already  known  to 
us.  She  had  betaken  herself  to  Heidelberg  to 
worship  Gubaryoff,  and  had  returned  with  "  in- 
structions." Kapitolina  Markovna  wore  a  de- 
cidedly queer  striped  mantle,  and  a  round  travel- 
ling-hat, in  the  shape  of  a  mushroom,  from  be- 

203 


SMOKE 

neath  which  her  closely -clipped  white  hair  stuck 
out  in  disarray;  short  of  stature  and  gaunt,  she 
had  got  very  red  with  the  journey,  and  was  talk- 
ing in  Russian,  with  a  shrill  and  chanting  voice. 
.  .  People  noticed  her  immediately. 

At  last  Litvinoff  seated  her  and  Tatyana  in  a 
carriage,  and  placed  himself  opposite  them.  The 
horses  started  off.  Inquiries  began,  hands  were 
shaken  afresh,  there  were  mutual  smiles,  greet- 
ings. .  .  Litvinoff  breathed  freely:  the  first  mo- 
ments had  passed  off  successfully.  Evidently, 
nothing  about  him  had  struck  or  disturbed 
Tanya:  she  looked  at  him  as  clearly  and  confid- 
ingly, she  blushed  as  prettily,  she  laughed  as 
good-naturedly  as  ever.  At  last  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  look  at  her,  not  fleetingly  and  super- 
ficially, but  directly  and  intently :  up  to  that  time 
his  own  eyes  had  not  obeyed  him.  Involuntary 
emotion  clutched  his  heart:  the  tranquil  expres- 
sion of  that  honest,  open  countenance  found  echo 
within  him  in  bitter  reproach.  "  Here— thou  hast 
come  hither,  poor  girl, " — he  thought : — ' '  thou , 
whom  I  so  waited  for  and  longed  for,  with  whom 
I  wished  to  pass  my  life  until  its  end— thou  hast 
come,  and  thou  hast  trusted  me  .  .  .  but  I  ... 
but  I  ..."  Litvinoff  dropped  his  head;  but 
Kapitolina  Markovna  gave  him  no  opportunity 
for  meditation ;  she  showered  questions  upon  him. 

'  What  is  that  building  with  the  pillars? 
Where  do  they  gamble?  Who  is  that  coming? 

204 


SMOKE 

Tanya,  Tanya,  look,  what  crinolines!  And  who 
is  that  yonder?  They  must  be  chiefly  French 
people  from  Paris  here?  Only  I  imagine  every- 
thing is  frightfully  dear.  Akh,  with  what  a 
splendid,  clever  woman  I  have  made  acquain- 
tance! You  know  her,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch; 
she  told  me  that  she  had  met  you  at  a  certain  Rus- 
sian's, also  a  wonderfully  clever  person.  She 
promised  to  call  on  us.  How  she  does  abuse  all 
these  aristocrats— it 's  simply  marvellous!  What 
gentleman  is  that  with  the  white  moustache  ?  The 
King  of  Prussia?  Tanya,  Tanya,  look,  that  is 
the  King  of  Prussia!  No?  it  isn't  the  King  of 
Prussia?  The  Ambassador  from  Holland?  I 
can't  hear,  the  wheels  rumble  so.  Akh,  what  mag- 
nificent trees ! " 

'  Yes,  aunty,  magnificent," — assented  Tanya: 

"  and  how  green  and  cheerful  everything  is 
here !    Is  n't  it,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch  ?  " 

"  It  is  cheerful  .  .  ."  he  answered  her,  through 
his  teeth. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  last  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  Litvinoff  escorted  the  two  travellers  to 
the  rooms  reserved  for  them,  promised  to  look  in 
in  the  course  of  an  hour,  and  returned  to  his  own 
room.  The  spell,  which  had  subsided  for  a  mo- 
ment, immediately  took  possession  of  him  as  soon 
as  he  entered  it.  Here  in  this  room  Irina  had 
reigned  since  the  preceding  day;  everything 
spoke  of  her,  the  very  air  seemed  to  have  pre- 
205 


SMOKE 

served  mysterious  traces  of  her  visit.  .  .  Again 
Litvinoff  felt  that  he  was  her  slave.  He  pulled 
forth  her  handkerchief,  which  he  had  hidden  in 
his  breast,  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  and  burning  mem- 
ories, like  delicate  poison,  diffused  themselves 
through  his  veins.  He  understood  that  there  was 
no  turning  back  now,  no  choice ;  the  painful  emo- 
tion aroused  in  him  by  Tatyana  melted  like  snow 
in  the  fire,  and  repentance  died  within  him  .  .  . 
died — so  that  even  the  agitation  within  him  was 
allayed,  and  the  possibility  of  dissimulation, 
which  presented  itself  to  his  mind,  did  not  revolt 
him.  .  .  Love,  Irina's  love — that  was  what  had 
now  become  his  righteousness,  his  law,  his  con- 
science. .  .  The  prudent,  sensible  Litvinoff  did 
not  even  reflect  how  he  was  to  extricate  himself 
from  a  situation  the  horror  and  indecency  of 
which  he  felt  lightly  and  in  an  indirect  manner, 
as  it  were. 

An  hour  had  not  elapsed  when  a  waiter  pre- 
sented himself  to  Litvinoff,  sent  by  the  newly- 
arrived  ladies:  they  requested  him  to  be  so  good 
as  to  come  to  them  in  their  sitting-room.  He  fol- 
lowed their  emissary,  and  found  them  already 
dressed,  and  with  their  hats  on.  Both  expressed 
a  desire  to  set  off  at  once  to  inspect  Baden,  seeing 
that  the  weather  was  very  fine  indeed.  Kapi- 
tolina  Markovna,  in  particular,  was  fairly  burn- 
ing with  impatience;  she  was  even  somewhat 
vexed  to  learn  that  the  hour  for  the  fashionable 
•  203 


SMOKE 

gathering  in  front  of  the  Konversationshaus  had 
not  yet  arrived.  Litvinoff  gave  her  his  arm,  and 
the  official  promenade  began.  Tatyana  walked 
by  the  side  of  her  aunt,  and  gazed  about  her  with 
calm  curiosity;  Kapitolina  Markovna  continued 
her  interrogatories.  The  sight  of  the  roulette, 
of  the  stately  croupiers,  whom  she  would  cer- 
tainly—had she  met  them  in  any  other  place,— 
have  taken  for  Cabinet  Ministers,  of  their 
brisk  little  shovels,  of  the  golden  and  silver 
heaps  on  the  green  cloth,  of  the  gambling  old 
women  and  painted  courtesans  put  Kapitolina 
Markovna  into  a  state  akin  to  dumb  rapture; 
she  totally  forgot  that  she  ought  to  feel  indig- 
nant—and only  stared,  and  stared,  with  all  her 
eyes,  quivering,  from  time  to  time,  with  every 
fresh  exclamation.  .  .  The  buzzing  of  the  ivory 
ball  in  the  depths  of  the  roulette  penetrated  to  the 
very  marrow  of  her  bones— and  only  when  she 
found  herself  in  the  open  air  did  she  gain  suffi- 
cient command  over  herself  to  designate  the 
game  of  chance,  with  a  profound  sigh,  as  an  im- 
moral invention  of  aristocratism.  A  fixed,  ma- 
licious smile  made  its  appearance  on  Litvinoff 's 
lips;  he  talked  abruptly  and  indolently,  as  though 
he  were  vexed  or  bored.  .  .  But  now  he  turned  to 
Tatyana,  and  was  seized  with  secret  discomfiture : 
she  was  gazing  attentively  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression as  though  she  were  asking  herself  what 
sort  of  an  impression  was  being  aroused  within 

207 


SMOKE 

her?  He  made  haste  to  nod  his  head  at  her;  she 
replied  to  him  in  the  same  way,  and  again  looked 
at  him  inquiringly,  not  without  a  certain  effort, 
as  though  he  stood  a  great  deal  further  away  from 
her  than  he  did  in  reality.  Litvinoff  led  his  ladies 
away  from  the  Konversationshaus,  and  avoiding 
"  the  Russian  tree,"  under  which  his  fellow- 
countrymen  were  already  encamped,  took  his  way 
to  Lichtenthaler  Avenue.  No  sooner  had  he  en- 
tered the  avenue  than  he  descried  Irina  from 
afar. 

She  was  walking  toward  him  with  her  husband 
and  Potugin.  Litvinoff  turned  pale  as  a  sheet, 
but  did  not  retard  his  pace,  and  when  he  came 
on  a  level  with  her  he  made  her  a  silent  bow.  And 
she  bowed  to  him,  pleasantly  but  coldly,  and  scru- 
tinising Tatyana  with  a  swift  glance,  she  slipped 
past.  .  .  Ratmiroff  raised  his  hat  very  high,  Po- 
tugin mumbled  something. 

;'  Who  is  that  lady?  " — suddenly  inquired  Ta- 
tyana. Up  to  that  moment  she  had  hardly  opened 
her  lips. 

"That  lady?"— repeated  Litvinoff.— "  That 
lady?  She  is  a  certain  Madame  Ratmiroff." 

"  A  Russian? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  make  her  acquaintance  here?  " 

"  No;  I  have  known  her  this  long  time." 

"  How  beautiful  she  is!  " 

"  Did  you  notice  her  toilette?  " — put  in  Kapi- 
208 


SMOKE 

tolina  Markovna.—"  Ten  families  might  be  fed 
for  a  whole  year  for  the  money  which  her  laces 
alone  are  worth.  Was  that  her  husband  walking 
with  her?  "—she  inquired  of  Litvinoff. 

"  Yes." 

"  He  must  be  frightfully  rich." 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know;  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  And  what  is  his  rank?  " 

"  That  of  general." 

'  What  eyes  she  has!  "—remarked  Tatyana:— 
"  and  the  expression  of  them  is  so  strange:  both 
thoughtful  and  penetrating.  .  .  I  have  never 
seen  such  eyes." 

Litvinoff  made  no  reply ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  again  felt  on  his  face  Tatyana's  questioning 
glance,  but  he  was  mistaken :  she  was  looking  un- 
der her  feet  at  the  sand  of  the  path. 

"Good  heavens!  Who  is  that  monster?" 
suddenly  exclaimed  Kapitolina  Markovna,  point- 
ing with  her  finger  at  a  low  char-a-bancs,  in 
which,  boldly  lolling,  lay  a  ruddy-haired,  snub- 
nosed  woman,  in  an  unusually  rich  costume  and 
lilac  stockings. 

"  That  monster!  Goodness,  that  is  the  famous 
Mademoiselle  Cora." 

"  Who? " 

"  Mademoiselle  Cora  ...  a  Parisian  .... 
celebrity." 

"  What?  that  pug-dog?  Why,  she  is  extremely 
ugly!" 

209 


SMOKE 

"  Evidently,  that  is  no  hindrance."  Kapito- 
lina  Markovna  simply  flung  out  her  hands  with 
amazement. 

'  Well,  your  Baden!  "—she  ejaculated  at  last. 

"  But  may  we  sit  down  on  this  bench?  I  feel 
rather  fatigued." 

"  Of  course  you  may,  Kapitolina  Markovna.  .  . 
That 's  what  the  benches  are  placed  here  for." 

'  Well,  the  Lord  only  knows!  They  say  that 
off  there,  in  Paris,  benches  stand  on  the  boule- 
vards, also,  but  it  is  not  proper  to  sit  on  them." 

Litvinoff  made  no  reply  to  Kapitolina  Mar- 
kovna. Only  at  that  very  moment  did  he  reflect 
that  a  couple  of  paces  distant  was  the  very  spot 
where  he  had  had  with  Irina  the  explanation 
which  had  settled  everything.  Then  he  recol- 
lected that  to-day  he  had  noticed  on  her  cheek  a 
tiny  red  spot.  .  . 

Kapitolina  Markovna  sank  down  on  the  bench, 
Tatyana  seated  herself  beside  her,  Litvinoff  re- 
mained on  the  path;  between  him  and  Tatyana 
— or  did  it  only  seem  so  to  him?— something  had 
taken  place  .  .  .  something  unconscious  and 
gradual. 

"  Akh,  she  is  queer,  she  is  queer,"— ejaculated 
Kapitolina  Markovna  compassionately,  shaking 
her  head. — "  Now,  if  you  were  to  sell  her  toilette, 
you  could  feed  not  ten,  but  a  hundred  families. 
Did  you  see  the  diamonds  on  her  red  hair  under 
her  hat?  Diamonds  by  daylight,  hey?  " 

210 


"Her  hair  is  not  red,"— remarked  Litvinoff; 

"  she  dyes  it  to  a  reddish  hue;  that 's  the  fashion 
now." 

Again  Kapitolina  Markovna  threw  her  hands 
apart  in  amazement,  and  even  fell  into  medita- 
tion. 

"Well,"— she  said  at  last,— "  we  have  n't 
gone  to  such  scandalous  lengths  in  Dresden  yet. 
Because,  after  all,  it  is  further  from  Paris. 
You  think  so  too,  don't  you,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch? " 

"I?  " — replied  Litvinoff,  and  said  to  himself: 
"  What  the  deuce  is  she  talking  about?  "— "  I? 
Of  course  ...  of  course.  .  ." 

But  here  hurried  footsteps  became  audible,  and 
Potugin  approached  the  bench. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Grigory  Mikhaflovitch,"— 
he  said,  smiling,  and  nodding  his  head. 

Litvinoff  immediately  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Good  afternoon,  good  afternoon,  Sozont 
Ivanitch.  I  think  I  met  you  just  now,  with  .  .  . 
just  now,  in  the  avenue." 

"  Yes,  it  was  I." 

Potugin  bowed  respectfully  to  the  ladies  as 
they  sat. 

"  Permit  me  to  introduce  you,  Sozont  Ivan- 
itch.  My  good  friends,  and  relatives,  have  only 
just  arrived  in  Baden.  Potugin,  Sozont  Ivan- 
itch,  a  fellow-countryman,  also  a  visitor  to 
Baden." 

211 


SMOKE 

Both  ladies  rose  slightly.  Potiigin  repeated  his 
salutes. 

"  It  is  a  regular  rout  here,"  began  Kapitolina 
Markovna,  in  a  thin  little  voice;  the  kindly  old 
maid  was  easily  abashed,  but  she  tried  her  best 
to  keep  up  her  dignity:—"  every  one  regards  it 
as  a  pleasant  duty  to  come  here." 

"  Baden  really  is  a  very  agreeable  place,"  - 
replied    Potiigin,    casting    a    sidelong    glance 
at     Tatyana;— "a     very     agreeable     place     is 
Baden." 

*  Yes ;  only  too  aristocratic,  so  far  as  I  can 
judge.  She  and  I  have  been  living  in  Dresden 
this  long  time  ...  it  is  a  very  interesting  town; 
but  it  is,  most  decidedly,  a  rout  here." 

"She  has  taken  a  fancy  to  that  word,"  thought 
Potugin.—"  Your  observation  is  perfectly  just," 
— he  said  aloud: — "  On  the  other  hand,  nature  is 
wonderful  here,  and  the  situation  is  such  as  is 
rarely  to  be  found.  Your  companion  must  par- 
ticularly appreciate  it.  Do  you  not,  madame?  " 
he  added,  this  time  addressing  himself  directly  to 
Tatyana. 

Tatyana  raised  her  large,  clear  eyes  to  Potugin. 
She  seemed  rather  perplexed  as  to  what  was 
wanted  of  her,  and  why  Litvinoff  had  introduced 
her,  on  that  first  day  of  her  arrival,  to  that  strange 
man,  who  had,  however,  a  clever  and  amiable  face, 
and  who  looked  at  her  in  a  courteous  and  friendly 
manner. 

212 


SMOKE 

'  Yes,"— she  said,  at  last,—"  it  is  very  pretty 
here." 

'  You  ought  to  visit  the  old  chateau,"— went 
on  Potiigin;— "in  particular,  I  recommend  you 
to  go  to  Iburg." 

'  The  Saxon  Switzerland,"— began  Kapitolina 
Markovna. 

A  blast  of  notes  from  trumpets  rolled  down 
the  avenue:  it  was  the  Prussian  military  band 
from  Rastadt  (in  1862  Rastadt  was  still  a  fed- 
erate fortress)  beginning  its  weekly  concert  in  the 
pavilion.  Kapitolina  Markovna  instantly  rose. 

"  Music!  "  —she  said:—"  the  music  at  the  a  la 
Conversation!  ...  we  must  go  there.  It  must 
be  three  o'clock  now,  is  it  not?  Society  is  begin- 
ning to  assemble  now? " 

"  Yes,"— replied  Potiigin;— "  this  is  the  most 
fashionable  hour  for  society,  and  the  music  is  very 
fine." 

"  Well,  then  we  must  not  delay.  Tanya,  let 
us  go." 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  accompany  you?  " 
inquired  Potiigin,  to  the  no  small  astonishment 
of  Litvmoff :  it  could  not  enter  his  head  that  Irina 
had  sent  Potugin. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  grinned. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  monsieur  .  .  . 
monsieur.  .  ." 

"  Potiigin,"— prompted  he,  and  offered  her  his 

arm. 

213 


SMOKE 

LitvinofF  gave  his  to  Tatyana,  and  both  couples 
directed  their  steps  toward  the  Konversations- 
haus. 

Potugin  continued  to  argue  with  Kapitolina 
Markovna.  But  LitvinofF  walked  along  without 
uttering  a  word,  and  merely  laughed  a  couple  of 
times,  without  any  cause  whatever,  and  lightly 
pressed  Tatyana's  arm.  There  was  falsehood  in 
those  pressures,  to  which  she  did  not  respond,  and 
Litvinoff  was  conscious  of  the  falsehood.  They 
did  not  express  mutual  confidence  in  the  close 
union  of  two  souls  which  had  given  themselves 
to  each  other,  as  before ;  they  were  now  taking  the 
place — for  the  time  being — of  the  words  which  he 
could  not  invent.  That  speechless  something, 
which  had  begun  between  the  two,  grew  and 
strengthened.  Again  Tatyana  gazed  attentively, 
almost  intently,  at  him. 

The  same  state  of  affairs  continued  in  front  of 
the  Konversationshaus,  at  the  little  table,  around 
which  all  four  seated  themselves,  with  this  sole 
difference  that  Litvmoff's  silence  appeared  more 
comprehensible  under  the  bustling  turmoil  of  the 
crowd,  and  the  thunder  and  crash  of  the  band. 
Kapitolina  Markovna  was  quite  beside  herself, 
as  the  saying  is;  Potugin  was  hardly  able  to 
humour  her,  and  satisfy  her  curiosity.  Luckily 
for  him,  the  gaunt  figure  of  Madame  Sukhan- 
tchikoff  and  her  ever-restless  eyes  suddenly  made 
their  appearance  in  the  throng.  Kapitolina  Mar- 

214 


SMOKE 

kovna  instantly  recognised  her,  called  her  up  to 
the  table,  made  her  sit  down— and  a  hurricane  of 
words  ensued. 

Potugin  turned  to  Tatyana  and  began  to  con- 
verse with  her  in  a  soft  and  quiet  voice,  with  a 
caressing  expression  on  his  slightly  inclined  coun- 
tenance; and  she,  to  her  own  surprise,  answered 
him  lightly  and  without  constraint;  she  found  it 
agreeable  to  chat  with  this  stranger,  whom  she 
did  not  know,  while  Litvinoff  continued,  as  be- 
fore, to  sit  motionless,  with  the  same  fixed  and 
malicious  smile  on  his  lips. 

The  hour  for  dinner  arrived  at  last.  The  band 
ceased  to  play,  the  crowd  began  to  thin  out.  Kap- 
itolina  Markovna  bade  a  sympathetic  farewell  to 
Madame  Sukhantchikoff.  She  had  conceived  an 
immense  respect  for  her,  although  she  told  her 
niece  afterward  that  she  was  an  extremely  spite- 
ful person;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  knew 
everything  about  everybody!  And  sewing- 
machines  ought,  really,  to  be  introduced  as  soon 
as  the  wedding  was  celebrated.  Potugin  bowed 
himself  off:  Litvinoff  took  his  ladies  home.  As 
they  entered  the  hotel,  a  note  was  handed  to  him : 
he  stepped  aside,  and  hastily  tore  off  the  envel- 
ope. On  a  small  scrap  of  vellum  paper  stood  the 
following  words,  scribbled  in  pencil:  "  Come  to 
me  this  evening,  for  a  moment,  at  seven  o'clock, 
I  beg  of  you.  Irina."  Litvinoff  thrust  the  paper 
into  his  pocket,  and  as  he  turned  round  he  smiled 

215 


SMOKE 

again  ....  at  whom?  why?  Tatyana  was  stand- 
ing with  her  back  to  him. 

The  dinner  took  place  at  the  general  table. 
Litvmoff  sat  between  Kapitolina  Markovna  and 
Tatyana,  and  having  grown  rather  strangely 
vivacious,  chatted,  narrated  anecdotes,  poured 
out  wine  for  himself  and  for  the  ladies.  He 
bore  himself  with  so  much  freedom  of  manner 
that  a  French  infantry  officer  from  Strassburg, 
with  a  goatee  and  moustache  a  la  Napoleon  III, 
who  sat  opposite,  found  it  possible  to  join  in  the 
conversation,  and  even  wound  up  with  a  toast 
a  la  sante  des  belles  moscovites!  After  dinner 
Litvinoif  escorted  the  two  ladies  to  their  room, 
and  after  standing  for  a  short  time  by  the  win- 
dow, with  frowning  brows,  he  suddenly  an- 
nounced that  he  must  absent 'himself  for  a  little 
while  on  business,  but  would  return,  without  fail, 
later  in  the  evening.  Tatyana  said  nothing, 
turned  pale,  and  dropped  her  eyes.  Kapitolina 
Markovna  had  a  habit  of  taking  a  nap  after 
dinner;  Tatyana  knew  that  Litvinoff  was  aware 
of  this  habit  of  her  aunt's :  she  had  expected  that 
he  would  take  advantage  of  it,  that  he  would  re- 
main, as  he  had  not  yet  been  alone  with  her,  had 
not  talked  frankly  with  her,  since  their  arrival. 
And  here  he  was  going  off !  How  was  she  to  un- 
derstand that?  And,  altogether,  his  whole  con- 
duct in  the  course  of  the  day  .... 

Litvinoif  made  haste  to  depart,  without  await- 
216 


ing  any  objections;  Kapitolina  Markovna  lay 
down  on  the  divan  and,  after  sighing  and  draw- 
ing a  couple  of  deep  breaths,  fell  into  an  untrou- 
bled sleep;  but  Tatyana  went  away  to  a  corner 
and  seated  herself  in  an  arm-chair,  with  her  arms 
tightly  folded  on  her  breast. 


217 


XIX 

LITVINOFF  briskly  ascended  the   stairs  of  the 
Hotel  de  1'Europe.  .  .  A  young  girl  of  thirteen, 
with  a  cunning  little  Kalmyk   face,  who,   evi- 
dently, was  lying  in  wait  for  him,  stopped  him, 
saying  to  him  in  Russian,  "This  way,  please; 
Irina    Pavlovna    will    be    here    directly."      He 
glanced  at  her  with  surprise.     She  smiled,  re- 
peated, "  If  you  please,  if  you  please,"  and  led 
him  into  a  small  room  which  was  opposite  Irina's 
bedroom,  and  filled  with  travelling  coffers  and 
trunks,  then  immediately  vanished,  closing  the 
door  softly  behind  her.    Litvinoff  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  taking  a  survey  when  the  same  door 
swiftly  opened  and  Irina  made  her  appearance, 
in  a  pink  ball-gown,  with  pearls  in  her  hair  and  on 
her  neck.    She  fairly  flung  herself  at  him,  seized 
him  by  both  hands,  and  remained  speechless  for 
several  moments ;  her  eyes  beamed  and  her  bosom 
heaved,  as  though  she  had  been  running  up  a  hill. 
"  I  could  not  receive  ....  you  there,"— she 
began,  in  a  hurried  whisper;—"  we  are  going  im- 
mediately to  a  formal  dinner,  but  I  felt  that  it 
was  imperatively  necessary  that  I  should  see  you. 
.  .  .  That  was  your  betrothed,  of  course,  with 
whom  I  met  you  to-day?  " 

218 


SMOKE 

'  Yes,  that  was  my  betrothed,"— said  Litvf- 
noff,  laying  special  emphasis  on  the  word  "  was." 

"  Exactly,  and  so  I  wished  to  see  you  for  a 
moment,  in  order  to  tell  you  that  you  must  con- 
sider yourself  entirely  free,  that  all  that  which 
took  place  yesterday  ought  not,  in  the  least,  to 
alter  your  decision.  .  .  ." 

"Irina!"— exclaimed  Litvinoff:— "  why  dost 
thou  say  this? " 

He  spoke  the  words  in  a  loud  voice. . . .  Bound- 
less passion  rang  out  in  them.  For  a  moment 
Irina  involuntarily  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  one!  "—she  went  on,  in  a  still 
softer  whisper,  but  with  uncontrollable  impulsive- 
ness:—"thou  dost  not  know  how  I  love  thee,  but 
yesterday  I  only  paid  my  debt,  I  expiated  a 
fault  of  the  past.  .  .  Akh!  I  could  not  give  thee 
my  youth,  as  I  would  have  liked  to  do,  but  I  im- 
posed no  obligations  upon  thee,  I  did  not  release 
thee  from  any  promise,  my  darling!  Do  as  thou 
wilt:  thou  art  free  as  air;  thou  art  in  no  wise 
bound;  understand  that!  Understand  it!" 

"  But  I  cannot  live  without  thee,  Irina,"— Lit- 
vinoff interrupted  her,  now  in  a  whisper. — "  I  am 

thine  forever  and  forever,  since  yesterday 

Only  at  thy  feet  can  I  breathe.  ..." 

He  tremblingly  pressed  himself  against  her 
arms.  Irina  gazed  at  his  bowed  head. 

"Well,  then,  thou  must  know,"— she  said,— 
"  that  I  am  ready  for  anything,  that  I  will  regret 

219 


SMOKE 

nobody  and  nothing.  As  thou  dost  decide,  so 

shall  it  be.  I  also  am  thine  forever 

thine." 

Some  one  knocked  cautiously  at  the  door. 
Irina  bent  over,  whispered  once  more,  "  Thine. 
.  .  .  .  Farewell!"  Litvinoff  felt  her  breath  on 
his  hair,  and  the  touch  of  her  lips.  When  he 
straightened  himself  up  she  was  no  longer  in  the 
room,  only  her  gown  was  to  be  heard  rustling  in 
the  corridor,  and  Ratmiroff's  voice  was  audible 
in  the  distance,  "  Eh  bien?  Vous  ne  venez 
pas?  " 

Litvinoff  sat  down  on  a  tall  trunk  and  covered 
his  face.  A  feminine  odour,  delicate  and  fresh, 
was  wafted  over  him.  Irina  had  held  his  hands 
in  her  hands.  '  This  is  too  much  ....  too 
much,"  he  said  to  himself.  'The  young  girl  en- 
tered the  room,  and  smiling  again  in  response  to 
his  troubled  glance,  she  said: 

"  Please  go,  sir,  while " 

He  rose  and  left  the  hotel.  An  immediate  re- 
turn home  was  not  to  be  thought  of:  he  must  re- 
cover his  senses.  His  heart  was  beating  slowly 
and  unevenly;  the  earth  seemed  to  be  moving 
faintly  under  his  feet.  Litvinoff  again  directed 
his  steps  to  Lichtenthal  Avenue.  He  compre- 
hended that  the  decisive  moment  had  arrived, 
that  it  had  become  impossible  to  delay  any  longer, 
to  dissimulate,  to  turn  aside,  that  an  explanation 
with  Tatyana  was  inevitable ;  he  pictured  to  him- 

220 


SMOKE 

self  how  she  was  sitting  there  without  moving 
and  waiting  for  him  ...  he  foresaw  what  he 
would  say  to  her;  but  how  was  he  to  set  about  it, 
how  was  he  to  begin?  He  had  renounced  all  his 
regular,  well-arranged,  orderly  future:  he  knew 
that  he  meant  to  fling  himself  headlong  into  the 
whirlpool,  into  which  it  was  not  proper  to  glance ; 
.  .  .  but  this  did  not  disturb  him.  That  affair 
was  ended,  and  how  was  he  to  present  himself 
before  his  judge?  And  even  if  his  judge  were  to 
meet  him,  as  it  were  an  angel  with  a  flaming 
sword :  it  would  be  easier  for  his  guilty  heart.  . .  . 
but  otherwise,  he  himself  would  be  obliged  to 
drive  the  dagger  home.  .  .  .  Horrible !  But  turn 
back,  renounce  that  other,  take  advantage  of  the 
liberty  which  was  promised  him,  which  was  recog- 
nised as  his  right  .  .  .  No!  It  would  be  better  to 
die!  No,  he  would  none  of  that  shameful  lib- 
erty; .  .  .  but  he  would  abase  himself  in  the 
dust,  and  in  order  that  those  eyes  might  incline 
with  love  .... 

"Grigory  Mikhaflitch! "— said  a  mournful 
voice,  and  a  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  LitvinofF. 

He  glanced  round,  not  without  alarm,  and  be- 
held Potugin. 

"  Excuse  me,  Grigory  Mikhaflitch," — began 
the  latter,  with  his  customary  grimace;—  "  per- 
haps I  startled  you,  but,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
you  from  afar,  I  thought  .  .  .  However,  if  you 
do  not  feel  like  talking  to  me  ...  ." 

221 


SMOKE 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  glad,"— muttered 
Litvinoff  through  his  teeth. 

Potiigin  walked  along  by  his  side. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  evening," — he  began:—"  so 
warm!  Have  you  been  walking  long?  " 

"  No,  not  Jong-" 

"  But  why  do  I  ask?  I  saw  you  come  out  of  the 
Hotel  de  1'Europe." 

"  So  you  have  been  following  me?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me?  " 
'  Yes,  " — repeated  Potugin  in  a  barely  audible 
voice. 

Litvinoff  halted  and  gazed  at  his  unbidden 
companion.  His  face  was  pale,  his  eyes  were 
roving;  ancient,  long-past  grief  seemed  to  start 
forth  upon  his  distorted  features. 

'  What,  precisely,  is  it  that  you  wish  to  say  to 
me?" — said  Litvinoff  slowly,  and  again  moved 
onward. 

"  Permit  me  ...  I  will  tell  you  at  once.  If 
it  is  all  the  same  to  you, — let  us  sit  down  on  this 
bench  here.  It  will  be  more  convenient." 

"  But  it  is  something  private,"— said  Litvinoff, 
as  he  sat  down  beside  him.  '  You  do  not  seem 
like  yourself,  Sozont  Ivanitch." 

'  Yes,  I  'm  all  right ;  and  there  is  nothing  pri- 
vate about  it.  In  fact,  I  wished  to  inform  you  . . . 
of  the  impression  which  your  betrothed  has  pro- 
duced on  me  .  .  .  for  she  is  your  betrothed  bride, 


SMOKE 

I  believe?  .  .  .  Well,  in  a  word,  that  young  girl 
to  whom  you  introduced  me  to-day:  I  must  say 
that  never,  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life,  have 
I  met  so  sympathetic  a  person.  She— has  a  heart 
of  gold,  a  truly  angelic  soul." 

Potugin  uttered  all  these  words  with  the  same 
bitter  and  afflicted  aspect,  so  that  even  Litvinoff 
could  not  fail  to  observe  the  contradiction  between 
the  expression  of  his  face  and  his  remarks. 

'  You  have  judged  Tatyana  Petrovna  with  en- 
tire justice," — began  Litvinoff;— "  although  I 
am  bound  to  feel  astonished,  in  the  first  place, 
that  you  are  acquainted  with  my  relations  to  her, 
and,  in  the  second  place,  that  you  have  so  speedily 
divined  her.  She  really  has  an  angelic  soul;  but 
allow  me  to  inquire  if  that  is  what  you  wished  to 
talk  to  me  about?  " 

"  She  cannot  be  divined  at  once,"— responded 
Potugin,  as  though  avoiding  the  last  question:— 
"  one  must  look  into  her  eyes.  She  deserves  every 
possible  happiness  on  earth,  and  enviable  is  the 
lot  of  that  man  whose  fate  it  shall  be  to  procure 
her  that  happiness!  We  must  wish  that  he  will 
prove  worthy  of  such  a  fate." 

Litvinoff  frowned  slightly. 

"  Excuse  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch,"— he  said:—"  I 
must  confess  that  I  find  your  conversation  de- 
cidedly original.  ...  I  should  like  to  know :  does 
the  hint  which  your  words  contain  refer  to 
me?" 

223 


SMOKE 

Potugin  did  not  immediately  reply  to  Litvi- 
noff ;  evidently,  he  was  struggling  with  himself. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"— he  began  at  last, 
— "  either  I  am  entirely  mistaken  in  you,  or  you 
are  in  a  condition  to  hear  the  truth,  from  whom- 
soever it  may  come,  and  under  whatsoever  un- 
sightly cover  it  may  present  itself.  I  just  told 
you  that  I  had  seen  whence  you  came." 

'  Well,  yes — from  the  Hotel  de  1'Europe. 
And  what  of  that? " 

"  Of  course  I  know  whom  you  saw  there!  " 

"  What? " 

'  You  saw  Madame  Ratmiroff." 
'  Well,  yes;  I  was  with  her.    What  more?  " 
'  What  more?  .  .  .  You  are  the  affianced  hus- 
band of  Tatyana  Petrovna ;  you  have  had  a  meet- 
ing with  Madame  Ratmiroff,  whom  you  love 
....  and  who  loves  you." 

Litvinoff  instantly  rose  from  the  bench;  the 
blood  flew  to  his  head. 

'  What 's  that?  "—he  said  at  last,  in  a  wrath- 
ful, choking  voice: — "is  this  an  insipid  jest,  or 
spying?  Be  so  good  as  to  explain  yourself." 

Potugin  cast  a  dejected  glance  at  him. 

"  Akh!  Do  not  take  offence  at  my  words,  Gri- 
gory Mikhailitch;  you  cannot  insult  me.  It 
was  not  for  that  that  I  began  this  conversation 
with  you,  and  I  am  in  no  mood  for  jesting  now." 

"  Possibly,  possibly.  I  am  ready  to  believe  in 
the  purity  of  your  intentions;  but,  nevertheless, 

224 


SMOKE 

I  shall  permit  myself  to  ask  you,  by  what  right 
do  you  meddle  with  my  private  affairs,  with  the 
heart-life  of  a  stranger,  and  on  what  grounds  do 
you  set  forth  your  ....  fiction,  with  so  much 
self-confidence,  for  the  truth?  " 

"My  fiction!  If  I  had  invented  that  you 
Mrould  not  have  got  angry!  and  as  for  my  right, 
I  have  never  yet  heard  of  a  man  putting  to  him- 
self the  question:  whether  he  had  the  right  to 
stretch  forth  a  hand  to  a  drowning  person." 

"  I  thank  you  humbly  for  your  solicitude,"  re- 
torted Litvinoff  angrily,—  "  only  I  do  not  stand 
in  the  slightest  need  of  it,  and  all  these  phrases 
about  perdition  prepared  by  fashionable  ladies 
for  inexperienced  youths,  about  the  immorality 
of  the  highest  society  and  so  forth,  I  regard  as 
merely  phrases,  and  even,  in  a  certain  sense,  I 
despise  them;  and  therefore,  I  must  request  you 
not  to  inconvenience  your  saving  right  hand,  and 
allow  me  to  drown  in  all  quietness." 

Again  Potugin  raised  his  eyes  to  LitvmoiF. 
He  was  breathing  heavily,  his  lips  were  twitching. 

'  Well,  look  at  me,  young  man,"— he  burst  out 
at  last,  and  he  smote  himself  on  the  breast:—"  do 
I  look  like  an  ordinary,  self-complacent  moralist, 
a  preacher?  Cannot  you  understand  that,  out  of 
mere  sympathy  for  you,  no  matter  how  strong 
that  might  be,  I  would  never  have  uttered  a  word, 
would  not  have  given  you  the  right  to  reproach 
me  for  that  which  I  hate  more  than  anything  else 

225 


SMOKE 

—for  indiscretion,  for  intrusiveness?  Do  not  you 
see  that  the  matter  here  is  of  a  totally  different 
nature— that  before  you  is  a  man  who  has  been 
crushed,  ruined,  definitively  annihilated  by  the 
very  same  feeling,  from  the  consequences  of 
which  he  would  like  to  save  you,  and  ....  for 
the  very  same  woman !  " 

Litvinoff  retreated  a  pace. 

"  Is  it  possible !  what  have  you  said.  .  .  .  You 
.  .  .  you  .  .  .  Sozont  Ivanitch?  But  Madame 
Byelsky  .  .  .  that  child 

"  Akh,  do  not  question  me  .  .  .  trust  me ! 
That  dark,  terrible  story  I  will  not  tell  you.  I 
hardly  knew  Madame  Byelsky;  the  child  is  not 
mine,  but  I  took  entire  charge  of  her  ....  be- 
cause ....  because  she  wished  it,  because  it  was 
necessary  for  her.  Why  should  I  be  here,  in 
your  repulsive  Baden?  And,  in  conclusion,  do 
you  suppose,  could  you,  for  one  moment,  have 
imagined  that  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  warn 
you  out  of  sympathy?  I  am  sorry  for  that  kind, 
good  young  girl,  your  betrothed;  but,  however, 
what  business  have  I  with  your  future,  with  both 
of  you?  .  .  .  But  I  fear  for  her  .  .  .  for  her." 

"  You  do  me  much  honour,  Mr.  Potugin,"- 
began  LitvinofF,— "  but  since,  according  to  your 
words,  we  are  both  in  the  same  situation,  why  do 
not  you  read  the  same  sort  of  exhortations  to 
yourself.  And  ought  not  I  to  attribute  your 
fears  to  another  sentiment?  " 

226 


SMOKE 

'  That  is,  to  jealousy,  you  mean  to  say?  Ekh, 
young  man,  young  man,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
to  shuffle  and  shift;  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  not 
to  understand  what  bitter  woe  now  speaks 
through  my  mouth !  No,  you  and  I  are  not  in  the 
same  situation!  I,  I— am  an  old,  ridiculous,  ut- 
terly harmless  eccentric  fellow  .  .  .  but  you! 
But  what  is  the  use  of  talking?  Not  for  one  sec- 
ond would  you  consent  to  take  upon  yourself  the 
role  which  I  am  playing,  and  playing  with  grati- 
tude! And  jealousy?  The  man  who  has  not  a 
single  drop  of  hope  is  not  jealous,  and  this  would 
not  be  the  first  time  that  I  have  had  occasion  to 
experience  that  emotion.  I  am  only  terrified  .  .  . 
terrified  for  her,  understand  that.  And  could  I 
foresee,  when  she  sent  me  to  you,  that  the  feeling 
of  guilt,  which  she  admitted  to  be  hers,  would 
lead  her  so  far?  " 

"  But  permit  me,  Sozont  Ivanitch,  you  seem  to 
know  .  .  ." 

"  I  know  nothing,  and  I  know  everything.  I 
know,"— he  added,  and  turned  his  head  away. — 
"  I  know  where  she  was  last  night.  But  she  is  not 
to  be  restrained  now:  like  a  stone  that  has  been 
hurled,  she  must  roll  to  the  bottom.  I  should  be 
a  still  greater  fool  if  I  were  to  imagine  that  my 
words  would  immediately  arrest  you  .  .  .  you,  to 
whom  such  a  woman  ....  But  enough  on  that 
score.  I  could  not  restrain  myself,  that  is  my  sole 
excuse.  Yes,  and,  in  conclusion,  how  was  I  to 

227 


SMOKE 

know,  and  why  should  I  not  make  the  attempt? 
Perhaps  you  will  think  better  of  it,  perhaps  some 
word  of  mine  will  fall  into  your  soul.  You  will 
not  wish  to  ruin  her  and  yourself,  and  that  inno- 
cent, lovely  creature.  .  .  Akh,  be  not  angry,  do 
not  stamp  your  foot!  Why  should  I  be  afraid— 
why  should  I  stand  on  ceremony?  It  is  not  jeal- 
ousy which  is  speaking  in  me  now,  nor  irritation. 
.  .  I  am  ready  to  fall  at  your  feet,  to  entreat 
you.  .  .  But  farewell.  Have  no  fear:  all  this 
will  remain  a  secret.  I  have  wished  your  good." 

Potugin  strode  along  the  avenue,  and  soon  dis- 
appeared in  the  already  descending  gloom.  .  .  . 
Litvinoff  did  not  detain  him. 

"  A  terrible,  dark  story," — Potugin  had  said  to 
Litvinoff,  and  had  not  been  willing  to  narrate  it. 
....  And  we  will  touch  upon  it  in  a  couple  of 
words  only. 

Eight  years  previous  to  this  time  he  had  hap- 
pened to  be  temporarily  ordered  by  his  Ministry 
to  Count  Reisenbach.  The  affair  took  place  in 
the  summer.  Potugin  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
driving  out  to  his  villa  with  documents,  and  spent 
whole  days  in  this  manner.  Irina  was  then  living 
with  the  Count.  She  never  disdained  persons  of 
inferior  positions,  at  all  events,  she  never  shunned 
them,  and  the  Countess  had  repeatedly  scolded 
her  for  her  superfluous  Moscow  familiarity.  Irina 
speedily  divined  the  clever  man  in  this  humble 
official,  clothed  in  uniform,  in  a  coat  buttoned  to 

228 


SMOKE 

the  throat.  She  chatted  with  him  frequently  and 
gladly  .  .  .  and  he  ...  he  fell  in  love  with  her, 
passionately,  profoundly,  secretly.  .  .  Secretly! 
He  thought  so. 

The  summer  passed.  The  Count  ceased  to  re- 
quire an  outside  assistant.  Potugin  lost  sight  of 
Irma,  but  could  not  forget  her.  Three  years  later 
he  quite  unexpectedly  received  an  invitation 
from  one  of  his  acquaintances,  a  lady  of  me- 
diocre standing.  This  lady  was  somewhat  em- 
barrassed, at  first,  to  express  her  meaning,  but 
after  having  extracted  from  him  an  oath  that  he 
would  maintain  the  greatest  secrecy  in  regard  to 
everything  which  he  should  hear,  she  proposed  to 
him  .  .  .  that  he  should  marry  a  certain  young 
girl  who  occupied  a  prominent  position  in  so- 
ciety, and  for  whom  marriage  had  become  indis- 
pensable. The  lady  could  hardly  make  up  her 
mind  to  hint  at  the  principal  in  the  affair,  and 
then  and  there  offered  Potugin  money  ...  a 
great  deal  of  money.  Potugin  did  not  take  of- 
fence,—amazement  overwhelmed  his  feeling  of 
wrath, — but,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  gave  a 
downright  refusal.  Then  the  lady  handed  him  a 
note  addressed  to  him— from  Irina.  '  You  are  a 
noble,  kind  man,"  she  wrote,—"  and  I  know  that 
you  will  do  anything  for  me ;  I  ask  this  sacrifice  of 
you.  You  will  save  a  being  who  is  dear  to  me. 
In  saving  her,  you  will  save  me  also.  .  .  Do  not 
ask  .  .  .  how.  I  could  not  have  brought  myself 

229 


SMOKE 

to  apply  to  any  one  with  such  a  request,  but  I  do 
stretch  out  my  hands  to  you,  and  say :  '  Do  this 
for  my  sake.' '  Potiigin  reflected,  and  said  that, 
in  fact,  he  was  ready  to  do  a  great  deal  for  Irina 
Pavlovna,  but  would  like  to  hear  her  wish  from 
her  own  lips.  The  meeting  took  place  that  same 
evening:  it  did  not  last  long,  and  no  one  knew 
about  it,  except  the  lady.  Irina  was  no  longer 
living  at  Count  Reisenbach's. 

"  Why  did  you  think  of  me,  in  particular?  " 
Potugin  asked  her. 

She  was  on  the  point  of  enlarging  upon  his  fine 
qualities,  but  suddenly  paused.  .  . 

"  No,"— she  said,—"  I  must  tell  you  the  truth. 
I  knew — I  know  that  you  love  me:  this  is  why  I 
decided  upon  it.  .  .  .  '  And  thereupon  she  told 
him  everything. 

Eliza  Byelsky  was  an  orphan ;  her  relatives  did 
not  like  her,  and  were  counting  upon  her  inherit- 
ance .  .  .  ruin  stared  her  in  the  face.  By  sav- 
ing her,  Irma  really  was  rendering  a  service  to  the 
man  who  was  the  cause  of  it  all,  and  who  had  now 
come  to  stand  very  close  to  her,  Irina.  .  .  Potu- 
gin gazed  silently  and  long  at  Irina,  and  con- 
sented. She  fell  to  weeping,  and  all  in  tears, 
flung  herself  on  his  neck.  And  he  also  began  to 
weep  .  .  .  but  their  tears  were  different.  Every- 
thing was  already  prepared  for  a  secret  marriage, 
a  powerful  hand  had  swept  aside  all  obstacles.  .  . 
But  illness  ensued  .  .  .  and  a  daughter  was  born, 

230 


SMOKE 

and  the  mother— poisoned  herself.  What  was  to 
be  done  with  the  child?  Potiigin  took  it  under  his 
charge  from  the  same  hands,  from  the  hands  of 
Irina. 

A  terrible,  dark  story.  .  .  Let  us  pass  on, 
reader,  let  us  pass  on ! 

Over  an  hour  more  elapsed  before  LitvinofF 
made  up  his  mind  to  return  to  his  hotel.  He  was 
already  drawing  near  to  it,  when  he  suddenly 
heard  footsteps  behind  him.  Some  one  appeared 
to  be  persistently  following  him,  and  walking 
faster  when  he  accelerated  his  pace.  As  he  came 
under  a  street-lamp,  Litvinoff  glanced  round, 
and  recognised  General  Ratmiroff .  In  a  white 
necktie,  and  an  elegant  overcoat  thrown  open  on 
the  breast,  with  a  row  of  tiny  stars  and  crosses  on 
a  golden  chain,  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  evening 
coat,  the  general  was  returning  from  the  dinner 
alone.  His  glance,  directly  and  boldly  riveted 
upon  Litvinoff,  expressed  such  scorn  and  such 
hatred,  his  whole  figure  breathed  forth  such  an 
importunate  challenge,  that  Litvinoff  considered 
it  his  duty  to  advance  to  meet  him,  summoning 
his  courage  to  advance  to  meet  that  "  row."  But, 
on  coming  alongside  of  LitvinofF,  the  general's 
face  instantly  underwent  a  change:  again  his 
wonted  playful  elegance  made  its  appearance, 
and  his  hand,  in  its  pale  lilac  glove,  raised  his 
shining  hat  on  high.  LitvinofF  silently  took  ofF 
his,  and  each  went  his  way. 

231 


SMOKE 

"Assuredly,  he  has  noticed  something!" — 
thought  Litvinoff.  "  If  only  ...  it  were  any 
other  person!  "  thought  the  general. 

Tatyana  was  playing  picquet  with  her  aunt, 
when  Litvinoff  entered  their  room. 

'  Well,  you  are  a  nice  one,  my  dear  fellow!  " 
exclaimed  Kapitolina  Markovna,  and  flung  her 
cards  on  the  table: — "  on  the  very  first  day  you 
have  disappeared,  and  for  the  entire  evening! 
Here  we  have  been  waiting  and  waiting  for  you, 
scolding  and  scolding.  .  ." 

"  I  have  not  said  anything,  aunty,"— remarked 
Tatyana. 

'  Well,  everybody  knows  what  a  submissive 
creature  you  are!  Shame  on  you,  my  dear  sir! 
And  a  betrothed  bridegroom,  to  boot!  " 

Litvinoff  excused  himself,  after  a  fashion,  and 
seated  himself  at  the  table. 

"  Why  have  you  stopped  playing?  "—he  asked, 
after  a  brief  silence. 

;<  That 's  just  the  point!  She  and  I  play  cards 
out  of  ennui  when  there  is  nothing  to  do  .... 
but  now  you  have  come." 

"If  you  would  like  to  listen  to  the  evening  con- 
cert,"— said  Litvinoff, — "  I  will  take  you  with 
great  pleasure." 

Kapitolina  Markovna  looked  at  her  niece. 

"  Let  us  go,  aunty,  I  am  ready," — said  the  lat- 
ter,—" but  would  it  not  be  better  to  remain  at 
home?  " 

232 


SMOKE 

"  The  very  thing!  Let  us  drink  tea,  in  our  own 
Moscow  fashion,  with  a  samovar ;  and  let 's  have 
a  good  talk.  We  have  n't  yet  had  a  thoroughly 
good  chat." 

Litvinoff  ordered  tea  to  be  brought,  but  they 
did  not  succeed  in  having  a  good  talk.  He  ex- 
perienced an  incessant  gnawing  of  conscience ;  no 
matter  what  he  said,  it  always  seemed  to  him  as 
though  he  were  lying,  and  that  Tatyana  divined 
it.  But,  in  the  meanwhile,  no  change  was  per- 
ceptible in  her ;  she  bore  herself  with  as  little  con- 
straint as  ever  ....  only,  her  glance  never  once 
rested  on  Litvinoff,  but  slipped  over  him  in  a  con- 
descending and  timid  sort  of  way— and  she  was 
paler  than  usual. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  asked  her  whether  she 
had  not  a  headache? 

At  first  Tatyana  was  on  the  point  of  answer- 
ing "No,"  but  changed  her  mind,  and  said: 
"  Yes,  a  little." 

"  It  is  from  the  journey," — said  Litvinoff,  and 
fairly  blushed  with  shame. 

"  It  is  from  the  journey,"— repeated  Tatyana, 
and  again  her  glance  glided  over  him. 
'  You  must  rest,  Tanetchka." 

"  I  shall  go  to  bed  soon,  aunty." 

On  the  table  lay  the  "  Guide  des  Voyageurs  "; 
Litvinoff  began  to  read  aloud  the  description  of 
the  environs  of  Baden. 

"  All  that  is  so,"— Kapitolina  Markovna  inter- 
233 


SMOKE 

rupted  him, — "  but  one  thing  we  must  not  forget. 
They  say  that  linen  is  very  cheap  here,  so  we 
might  buy  some  for  the  trousseau." 

Tatyana  dropped  her  eyes. 

;<  There  is  plenty  of  time,  aunty.  You  never 
think  of  yourself.  But  you  certainly  must  have  a 
new  gown  made.  You  see  how  finely  dressed 
every  one  is  here." 

"Eh,  my  darling!  Why  should  I?  What  sort 
of  a  fashionable  figure-plate  should  I  make?  It 
would  be  all  right  if  I  were  as  beautiful  as  that 
acquaintance  of  yours,  Grigory  Mikhailitch — 
what  in  the  world  is  her  name?  " 

'  What  acquaintance? " 

:'  Why,  the  one  we  met  to-day." 

"Ah,  that  one!" — said  Litvinoff,  with  simu- 
lated indifference,  and  again  he  felt  odious  and 
ashamed.  "No!"  he  said  to  himself,  "things 
cannot  go  on  in  this  way!  " 

He  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  his  betrothed,  and 
a  few  inches  away  from  her,  in  his  pocket,  was 
Irina's  handkerchief. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  went  into  the  next  room 
for  a  moment. 

'  Tanya  .  .  .  ." — said  Litvinoff,  with  an  ef- 
fort. He  called  her  by  that  name  for  the  first 
time  that  day. 

She  turned  toward  him. 

"I  ....  have  something  important  to  say  to 
you." 

234 


SMOKE 

"All!     Really?     When?     Immediately?" 

"  No,  to-morrow." 

"Ah!    To-morrow.    Well,  very  good." 

Boundless  pity  immediately  filled  Litvinoff's 
soul.  He  took  Tatyana's  hand  and  kissed  it  sub- 
missively, like  a  guilty  man;  her  heart  contracted 
silently,  and  that  kiss  did  not  make  her  rejoice. 

That  night,  at  two  o'clock,  Kapitolina  Mar- 
kovna,  who  slept  in  the  same  room  with  her  niece, 
suddenly  raised  her  head  and  listened. 

'  Tanya!  "  —she  said: — "  are  you  crying?  " 

Tatyana  did  not  immediately  reply. 

"  Xo,  aunty," — her  gentle  little  voice  made  it- 
self heard;—"  I  have  a  cold  in  the  head." 


235 


XX 

"WHY  did  I  say  that?"  thought  Litvinoff,  on 
the  following  morning,  as  he  sat  in  front  of  the 
window  in  his  own  room.  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders with  vexation:  he  had  said  it  to  Tatyana 
precisely  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  off  all  retreat 
from  himself.  On  the  window-sill  lay  a  note 
from  Irina:  she  summoned  him  to  her  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Potugin's  words  incessantly  recurred  to 
his  memory;  then  they  rushed  past  with  an  omi- 
nous, though  feeble,  rather  subterranean  roar ;  he 
waxed  angry,  and  could  not,  in  any  way,  rid  him- 
self of  them.  Some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Wer  da?  "—inquired  Litvinoff. 

"  Ah!    You  are  at  home!    Open!  " — rang  out 
Bindasoff's  hoarse  bass  voice. 

The  handle  of  the  door  rattled. 

Litvinoff  turned  pale  with  wrath. 

"  I  am  not  at  home,"— he  said  sharply. 

'  Why  are  n't  you  at  home?    What  sort  of  a 
jest  is  this? " 

"  I  tell  you— I  am  not  at  home;  take  yourself 
off." 

'  That 's  amiable  of  you!    And  I  came  to  bor- 
row money,"— growled  Bindasoff. 

236 


But  he  withdrew,  clacking  his  heels,  as  usual. 

Litvinoff  almost  rushed  out  after  him,  so  great 
was  his  desire  to  break  the  neck  of  that  disgust- 
ing, insolent  fellow.  The  events  of  the  last  few 
days  had  deranged  his  nerves:  a  little  more,  and 
he  would  have  wept.  He  drank  a  glass  of  cold 
water,  locked  all  the  drawers  in  the  furniture, 
without  knowing  why  he  did  so,  and  went  to  Ta- 
tyana. 

He  found  her  alone — Kapitolina  Markovna 
had  betaken  herself  to  the  shops  to  make  pur- 
chases. Tatyana  was  sitting  on  the  divan,  and 
holding  a  book  with  both  hands ;  she  was  not  read- 
ing it,  and  even  hardly  knew  what  book  it  was. 
She  did  not  stir,  but  her  heart  was  beating  vio- 
lently in  her  breast,  and  the  white  collar  round  her 
neck  quivered  perceptibly  and  regularly. 

Litvinoff  was  disconcerted  .  .  .  but  he  sat  down 
beside  her,  bade  her  good  morning,  and  smiled; 
and  she  smiled  silently  at  him.  She  had  bowed  to 
him  when  he  entered,  bowed  politely,  not  in  a 
friendly  manner— and  had  not  looked  at  him.  He 
offered  her  his  hand;  she  gave  him  her  cold  fin- 
gers, immediately  disentangled  them,  and  re- 
turned to  her  book.  Litvinoff  felt  that  to  begin 
the  conversation  with  trivial  subjects  would  be 
equivalent  to  offering  Tatyana  an  affront;  ac- 
cording to  her  wont,  she  demanded  nothing,  but 
everything  in  her  said :  "  I  am  waiting,  I  am  wait- 
ing. .  ."  He  must  fulfil  his  promise.  But,  al- 

237 


SMOKE 

though  he  had  thought  of  nothing  else  almost  all 
night,  he  had  not  prepared  even  the  first  intro- 
ductory words,  and  positively  did  not  know  how 
to  break  that  cruel  silence. 

'  Tanya,"— he  began  at  last, — "  I  told  you  yes- 
terday that  I  have  something  important  to  com- 
municate to  you  "  (in  Dresden,  when  he  was 
alone  with  her,  he  had  begun  to  address  her  as 
"  thou,"  but  now  such  a  thing  was  not  to  be 
thought  of ) .  "I  am  ready,  only,  I  beg  you  in 
advance,  not  to  blame  me,  and  to  feel  assured  that 
my  feelings  for  you  .  .  .  ." 

He  halted.  He  had  lost  his  breath.  Still  Ta- 
tyana  never  moved,  nor  did  she  glance  at  him :  she 
merely  grasped  her  book  more  firmly  than  be- 
fore. 

"  Between  us," — went  on  Litvinoff,  without 
completing  the  speech  he  had  begun, — "  between 
us  there  has  always  been  perfect  frankness ;  I  re- 
spect you  too  much  to  resort  to  double  dealing 
with  you ;  I  want  to  prove  to  you  that  I  prize  the 
loftiness  and  freedom  of  your  soul,  and  although 
I  .  .  although,  of  course  .  .  .  ." 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"— began  Tatyana  in 
an  even  voice,  and  her  whole  face  became  over- 
spread with  a  death-like  pallor,—"  I  will  come  to 
your  assistance :  you  have  ceased  to  love  me,  and 
you  do  not  know  how  to  tell  me  that." 

Litvinoff  involuntarily  shuddered. 

"  Why?  "—he  said,  almost  inaudibly,—  "  why 
233 


should  you  think  that?  ...  I  really  do  not  un- 
derstand. .  ." 

"  Well,  is  it  not  the  truth?  Is  it  not  the  truth? 
tell  me!  tell  me!" 

Tatyana  turned  her  whole  body  toward  Litvi- 
noff ;  her  face,  with  its  hair  thrown  back,  ap- 
proached his  face,  and  her  eyes,  which  had  not 
looked  at  him  for  so  long,  fairly  devoured  his 
eyes. 

"Is  it  not  true?  "—she  repeated. 

He  said  nothing,  did  not  utter  a  single  sound. 
He  could  not  have  lied  at  that  moment,  even  if 
he  had  known  that  she  would  believe  him,  and  that 
his  lie  would  save  her ;  he  was  not  even  capable  of 
enduring  her  gaze.  Litvinoff  said  nothing,  but 
she  no  longer  needed  an  answer ;  she  read  the  an- 
swer in  his  silence,  in  those  guilty,  downcast  eyes, 
— and  threw  herself  back,  and  dropped  her  book. 
.  .  .  She  had  still  doubted,  up  to  that  moment, 
and  Litvinoff  understood  this ;  he  understood  that 
she  still  doubted— and  how  repulsive,  actually  re- 
pulsive, was  everything  that  he  had  done ! 

He  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"Tanya!"— he  exclaimed:— "if  I  had  known 
how  painful  it  would  be  to  me  to  behold  you  in 
this  situation,  how  frightful  it  would  be  to  me  to 
think  that  it  is  I  ....  I!  My  heart  is  lacerated ; 
I  do  not  know  myself;  I  have  lost  myself  and 
thee,  and  everything.  .  .  .  Everything  is  ruined, 
Tanya,  everything!  Could  I  have  foreseen  that  I 

239 


SMOKE 

.  .  I  would  deal  such  a  blow  to  thee,  my  best 
friend,  my  guardian  angel!  .  .  .  Could  I  have 
foreseen  that  thou  and  I  would  meet,  would  pass 
such  a  day  as  yesterday!  .  .  ." 

Tatyana  tried  to  rise  and  withdraw.  He  de- 
tained her  by  the  hem  of  her  gown. 

"  No ;  listen  to  me  for  another  minute.  Thou 
seest,  I  am  kneeling  before  thee.  But  I  have  not 
come  to  ask  forgiveness, — thou  canst  not  and 
must  not  forgive  me ;  I  have  come  to  tell  thee  that 
thy  friend  has  gone  to  destruction,  that  he  is  fall- 
ing into  the  abyss,  and  does  not  wish  to  drag  thee 
down  with  him. . . .  But  save  me  ...  no!  even  thou 
canst  not  save  me.  I  myself  would  have  re- 
pulsed thee.  ...  I  have  perished,  Tanya,  I  have 
perished  irrevocably! " 

Tatyana  looked  at  Litvinoif . 

"You  have  perished!  "—she  said,  as  though 
she  did  not  fully  understand  him.—"  You  have 
perished? " 

"  Yes,  Tanya,  I  have  perished.  All  that  is 
past,  all  that  is  dear,  all  that  has  heretofore  con- 
stituted my  life, — has  perished  for  me;  every- 
thing is  ruined,  everything  is  torn  away,  and  I 
know  not  what  awaits  me  in  the  future.  Thou 
didst  tell  me  immediately  that  I  had  ceased  to 
love  thee.  .  .  No,  Tanya,  I  have  not  ceased  to 
love  thee,  but  another,  a  terrible,  irresistible 
feeling  has  descended  upon  me,  has  flooded  me. 
I  resisted  it  as  long  as  I  was  able.  ..." 

240 


SMOKE 

Tatyana  rose;  her  brows  were  contracted,  her 
pale  face  had  darkened.  Litvinoff  also  rose. 

'  You  have  fallen  in  love  with  another 
woman," — she  began, — "  and  I  divine  who  she  is. 
.  .  We  met  her  yesterday,  did  we  not  ?  Very  well ! 
I  know  now  what  remains  for  me  to  do.  As  you 
yourself  say  that  this  feeling  is  unalterable  in 
you  .  .  ."  (Tatyana  paused  for  an  instant:  per- 
haps she  still  hoped  that  Litvinoff  would  not 
let  this  last  word  pass  without  a  reply,  but  he 
said  nothing)  "  all  there  is  left  for  me  to  do  is 
to  give  you  back  .  .  .  your  word."  Litvinoff 
bent  his  head,  as  though  submissively  accepting 
a  merited  blow. 

'  You  have  a  right  to  be  angry  with  me," — he 
said,—"  you  have  a  perfect  right  to  reproach 
me  with  pusillanimity  .  .  .  with  deceit." 

Again  Tatyana  looked  at  him. 

"  I  have  not  reproached  you,  Litvinoff;  I  do 
not  accuse  you.  I  agree  with  you:  the  very  bit- 
terest truth  is  better  than  what  went  on  yesterday. 
What  a  life  ours  would  have  been  under  present 
circumstances! " 

:<  What  a  life  mine  will  be  under  present  cir- 
cumstances!" echoed  painfully  in  Litvinoff 's 
soul. 

Tatyana  approached  the  door  of  the  bedroom. 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  leave  me  alone  for  a  time, 
Grigory  Mikhailitch,— we  shall  meet  again,  we 
shall  talk  together  again.  All  this  has  been 

241 


SMOKE 

so  unexpected.  I  must  collect  my  forces  .... 
leave  me  .  .  .  spare  my  pride.  We  shall  see  each 
other  again." 

And  having  said  these  words,  Tatyana  hastily 
left  the  room  and  locked  the  door  after  her. 

Litvinoff  went  out  into  the  street  as  though 
confused,  stunned;  something  dark  and  heavy 
had  taken  root  in  the  very  depths  of  his  heart;  a 
man  who  has  cut  another  man's  throat  must  ex- 
perience a  similar  sensation,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
he  felt  relieved,  as  though  he  had  at  last  cast  off 
a  hateful  burden.  Tatyana's  magnanimity  an- 
nihilated him ;  he  was  vividly  conscious  of  all  that 
he  had  lost  .  .  .  and  what  then?  Vexation  was 
mingled  with  his  repentance;  he  longed  for 
Irina,  as  the  sole  refuge  left  him, — and  was 
angry  with  her.  For  some  time  past,  and  with 
every  succeeding  day,  Litvinoff's  feelings  had 
been  becoming  more  and  more  powerful  and 
complex;  this  complication  tortured,  irritated 
him;  he  felt  lost  in  this  chaos.  He  thirsted  for 
one  thing :  to  come  out,  at  last,  on  a  road,  on  any 
road  whatever,  if  only  he  might  no  longer  whirl 
around  in  this  unintelligible  twilight.  Positive 
people,  like  Litvinoff,  ought  not  to  get  car- 
ried away  by  passion ;  it  destroys  the  very  mean- 
ing of  their  lives.  .  .  But  nature  asks  no  questions 
about  logic,  our  human  logic;  she  has  her  own, 
which  we  do  not  understand  and  do  not  recognise 
until  it  rolls  over  us,  like  a  wheel. 

242 


SMOKE 

After  parting  from  Tatyana,  Litvinoif  held 
one  thought  firmly  in  his  mind:  to  see  Irina;  and 
he  set  out  for  her  abode.  But  the  general  was 
at  home, — at  least,  so  the  porter  told  him, — and 
he  did  not  care  to  enter;  he  did  not  feel  himself 
in  a  condition  to  dissimulate,  and  strolled  off  to 
the  Konversationshaus.  Litvinoff's  incapacity 
for  dissimulation  was  experienced  that  day  by 
Voroshiloff  and  Pishtchalkin,  who  chanced  to 
encounter  him :  he  fairly  told  one  of  them  point- 
blank  that  he  was  as  empty  as  a  tambourine ;  the 
other,  that  he  was  tiresome  enough  to  make  a  man 
swoon;  it  was  a  good  thing  that  Bindasoff  did 
not  turn  up:  a  "grosser  Scandal"  certainly 
would  have  ensued.  Both  young  men  were 
amazed ;  Voroshiloff  even  asked  himself  whether 
his  honour  as  an  officer  did  not  demand  repara- 
tion?— but,  like  Gogol's  lieutenant  Pirogoff,  he 
soothed  himself  in  the  cafe  with  bread  and  butter. 
Litvinoff  caught  a  distant  glimpse  of  Kapitolina 
Markovna,  busily  running  from  shop  to  shop  in 
her  motley  mantle.  .  .  He  felt  ashamed  before 
the  kind,  ridiculous,  noble  old  woman.  Then  he 
recalled  Potugin  and  their  conversation  of  the 
preceding  day.  .  .  .  But  now  some  influence  was 
breathing  upon  him,  something  impalpable  and 
indubitable;  had  the  exhalation  emanated  from 
a  falling  shadow,  it  could  not  have  been  more 
intangible.  But  he  immediately  felt  that  Irina 
was  approaching.  And  in  fact,  she  appeared  at 

243 


SMOKE 

a  distance  of  a  few  paces,  arm  in  arm  with  another 
lady ;  their  eyes  instantly  met.  Irina,  in  all  proba- 
bility, noticed  something  unusual  in  the  expres- 
sion of  Litvfnoff's  face;  she  halted  in  front  of  a 
shop,  in  which  a  mass  of  tiny  wooden  clocks  of 
Schwarzwald  manufacture  were  on  sale,  sum- 
moned him  to  her  by  a  movement  of  her  head, 
and  pointing  out  one  of  these  clocks  to  him,  and 
requesting  him  to  admire  the  pretty  dial-plate, 
with  a  painted  cuckoo  at  the  top,  she  said,  not  in  a 
whisper,  but  in  her  ordinary  voice,  as  though  com- 
pleting a  phrase  which  had  been  begun— which  at- 
tracts less  attention  from  strangers: 

"  Come  an  hour  hence,  I  shall  be  at  home  and 
alone." 

But  at  this  point,  that  squire  of  dames,  Mon- 
sieur Verdier,  fluttered  up  to  her,  and  began  to 
go  into  ecstasies  over  the  feuille  morte  tint  of  her 
gown,  over  her  low-crowned  Spanish  hat,  which 
was  pulled  down  to  her  very  eyebrows.  .  .  Litvi- 
noff  vanished  in  the  crowd. 


244 


XXI 

"  GRIGORY,"— said  Irina  to  him,  two  hours 
later,  as  she  sat  beside  him  on  the  couch  and  laid 
both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. — "  What  is  the 
matter  with  thee?  Tell  me  now,  quickly,  while 
we  are  alone." 

"  With  me?  "—said  Litvinoff.— "  I  am  happy, 
happy,  that  is  what  is  the  matter  with  me." 

Irina  dropped  her  eyes,  smiled,  sighed. 

"  That  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question,  my 
dear  one.  " 

Litvinoff  reflected. 

"  Well,  then,  thou  must  know  .  .  .  since  thou 
imperatively  demandest  it"  (Irina  opened  her 
eyes  very  widely,  and  drew  back  a  little) :  "  I 
have  to-day  told  my  betrothed  everything." 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  everything?  Didst 
thou  mention  my  name?  " 

"  Irina,  for  God's  sake,  how  could  such  a 
thought  enter  thy  head !  that  I  .  ..." 

Litvinoff  actually  clasped  his  hands. 
'  Well,  forgive  me  ....  forgive  me.    What 
didst  thou  say? " 

'  I  told  her  that  I  no  longer  loved  her." 

"Did  she  ask  why?" 

245 


SMOKE 

"  I  did  not  conceal  from  her  the  fact  that  I 
loved  another,  and  that  we  must  part." 

'  Well  .  .  .  and  how  about  her?    Did  she  con- 
sent?" 

"  Akh,  Irina,  what  a  girl  she  is !  She  is  all  self - 
^sacrifice,  all  nobility! " 

"  I  believe  it,  I  believe  it .  .  however,  there  was 
nothing  else  left  for  her  to  do." 

"  And  not  a  single  reproach,  not  a  single  bit- 
ter word  to  me,  to  the  man  wrho  has  spoiled  her 
whole  life,  who  has  deceived  her,  pitilessly 
abandoned  her.  .  ." 

Irina  inspected  her  finger-nails. 

'  Tell  me,  Grigory,  did  she  love  thee?  " 

'  Yes,  Irma,  she  did  love  me." 

Irina  said  nothing,  but  smoothed  her  gown. 

"  I  must  confess,"— she  began,—"  that  I  do 
not  quite  understand  why  thou  hast  taken  it  into 
thy  head  to  have  an  explanation  with  her." 

"  How  is  it  that  thou  dost  not  understand  it, 
Irina!  Is  it  possible  that  thou  wouldst  have 
wished  to  have  me  lie,  dissimulate  before  her— be- 
fore that  pure  soul?  Or  didst  thou  assume  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  assumed  nothing,"  interrupted  Irina.—  '  I 
must  admit  that  I  have  thought  very  little  about 
her.  .  .  I  cannot  think  of  two  persons  at  the  same 
time." 

"  That  is,  thou  intendest  to  say  .  .  ." 

"Well,  and  what  then?  Is  she  going  away, 
that  pure  soul?  "—interrupted  Irina  again. 

246 


SMOKE 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,"— replied  Litvi- 
nofF.—  "  I  must  see  her  again.  But  she  will  not 
remain." 

"  All!   A  prosperous  journey  to  her!  " 

"  No,  she  will  not  remain.  But  neither  am  I 
thinking  of  her  at  present.  I  am  thinking  of 
what  thou  hast  said  to  me,  of  what  thou  hast 
promised  me." 

Irina  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  him. 

"  Ungrateful!    Art  thou  still  not  satisfied?  " 

"  No,  Irina,  I  am  not  satisfied.  Thou  hast 
made  me  happy,  but  I  am  not  satisfied,  and  thou 
understandest  me." 

"  That  is  to  say,  I .  .  ." 

'  Yes,  thou  understandest  my  meaning. 
Recollect  thy  words,  remember  what  thou  hast 
written  to  me.  I  cannot  share  with  another;  I 
cannot  consent  to  the  pitiful  role  of  a  secret  lover ; 
I  have  cast  not  my  own  life  only,  but  another 
life  also,  at  thy  feet.  I  have  renounced  every- 
thing I  have,  I  have  ground  everything  to  dust, 
without  compassion  and  without  recall;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  believe,  I  am  firmly  convinced, 
that  thou  also  wilt  keep  thy  promise  and  wilt 
unite  thy  fate  forever  to  mine.  .  .  .." 

"  Thou  desirest  that  I  should  flee  with  thee? 
I  am  ready  .  .  ."  (Litvinoff  kissed  her  hands 
with  rapture)  "  I  am  ready;  I  do  not  take  back 
my  word.  But  hast  thou  considered  the  difficul- 
ties .  .  .  hast  thou  prepared  the  means  ?" 

247 


SMOKE 

"I?  I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  consider,  or  to 
prepare,  but  say  this  one  thing,  '  yes  ' ;  grant  me 
the  permission  to  act,  and  before  a  month  shall 
have  elapsed  .  .  .  ." 

"  A  month !  We  leave  for  Italy  in  a  fort- 
night." 

"  A  fortnight  is  enough  for  me.  Oh,  Irina ! 
thou  receivest  my  proposal  coldly,  to  all  appear- 
ances ;  perhaps  it  seems  to  thee  fanciful,  but  I  am 
not  a  boy,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  comfort  myself 
with  fancies;  I  know  that  it  is  a  terrible  step,  I 
know  what  a  responsibility  I  am  assuming,  but  I 
see  no  other  issue.  Reflect,  in  short,  that  I  am 
bound  to  break  off  all  connection  with  the  past, 
in  order  that  I  may  not  bear  the  reputation  of  a 
despicable  liar  in  the  eyes  of  that  young  girl 
whom  I  have  sacrificed  for  thy  sake." 

Irina  suddenly  drew  herself  up,  and  her  eyes 
flashed. 

'  Well,  you  must  excuse  me,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch !  If  I  make  up  my  mind  to  do  that,  if  I  flee, 
I  shall  flee  with  the  man  who  does  it  for  me,  pre- 
cisely for  me,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  not  lowering 
himself  in  the  opinion  of  a  phlegmatic  young  lady 
who  has  milk  and  water,  du  lait  coupe,  in  her 
veins,  in  place  of  blood.  And  I  will  tell  you 
something  else,  also:  I  must  say  that  this  is  the 
first  time  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  hear  that  the 
man  to  whom  I  have  shown  favour  is  deserving 
of  compassion,  is  playing  a  sorry  part!  I  know 

248 


SMOKE 

a  more  pitiful  role:  the  role  of  a  man  who  docs 
not  know  what  is  going  on  in  his  own  soul !  " 

It  was  now  Litvinoff's  turn  to  draw  himself 
up. 

"  Irina,"— he  began. 

But  she  suddenly  pressed  both  palms  to  her 
brow,  and  flinging  herself  on  his  breast,  with  a 
convulsive  impulse,  embraced  him  with  unfemi- 
nine  force. 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,"— she  said  in  a 
trembling  voice,—"  forgive  me,  Grigory!  Thou 
seest  how  spoiled  I  am,  how  hateful,  jealous, 
wicked  I  am!  Thou  seest  how  I  need  thy  help, 
thy  indulgence!  Yes,  save  me,  tear  me  out  of 
this  abyss  before  I  perish  utterly !  Yes,  let  us  flee, 
let  us  flee  from  these  people,  from  this  society, 
into  some  distant,  free,  beautiful  land!  Perhaps 
thy  Irina  will  become,  at  last,  more  worth}7  of  the 
sacrifices  which  thou  art  making  for  her !  Be  not 
angry  with  me,  my  dearest,— and  understand 
that  I  will  do  everything  which  thou  commandest ; 
I  will  go  anywhere,  whithersoever  thou  leadest 
me!" 

Litvinoff 's  heart  was  completely  upset.  Irina 
pressed  more  violently  than  ever  to  him  with  her 
supple  37oung  body.  He  bent  over  her  dishev- 
elled, perfumed  locks,  and  in  an  intoxication  of 
gratitude  and  rapture,  hardly  ventured  to  caress 
them  with  his  hand,  hardly  touched  them  with  his 
lips. 

249 


SMOKE 

"  Irina,    Irina," — he    kept    repeating,—  "  my 
angel.  .  ." 

She  suddenly  raised  her  head,  listened.  .  . 
'  Those  are  my  husband's  footsteps  .  .  he  has 
gone  into  his  own  room," — she  whispered,  and 
hastily  moving  away,  she  seated  herself  in  an 
arm-chair.  Litvinoff  was  on  the  point  of  rising. 
.  .  "  Where  art  thou  going?  "  she  continued  in  the 
same  whisper:—  "  remain;  he  suspects  thee,  as 
it  is.  Or  art  thou  afraid  of  him?"— She  never 
took  her  eyes  from  the  door.—  '  Yes,  it  is  he;  he 
will  come  hither  immediately.  Tell  me  some- 
thing, converse  with  me."— Litvinoff  could  not 
at  once  recover  himself,  and  remained  silent.— 
"  Are  not  you  going  to  the  theatre  to-morrow?  " 
—she  said  aloud.—  '  They  are  playing  '  Le  Verre 
d'Eau,'  a  stale  old  piece,  and,Plessy  is  frightfully 
affected.  .  .  I  feel  as  though  I  were  in  a  fever," 
—she  added,  lowering  her  voice,— we  cannot 
go  on  like  this ;  we  must  think  it  over  carefully.  I 
must  warn  thee  that  he  has  all  my  money;  mais 
j'ai  mes  bijoux.  Let  us  go  to  Spain,  shall  we?  " 
— Again  she  raised  her  voice.—  '  Why  is  it  that 
all  actresses  get  fat?  There  is  Madeleine  Brohan, 
for  example.  .  .  Do  say  something;  don't  sit 
there  dumb  like  that.  My  head  is  whirling.  But 
thou  must  have  no  doubts  of  me.  .  .  I  will  let 
thee  know  where  thou  must  come  to-morrow. 
Only,  it  was  unnecessary  for  thee  to  tell  that 
young  lady.  .  .  .  Ah!  mais  c'est  charmant! " 


SMOKE 

she  suddenly  exclaimed,  and  with  a  nervous  laugh 
she  tore  off  the  border  of  her  handkerchief. 

"  May  I  come  in?  "—inquired  Ratmiroff,  from 
the  adjoining  room. 

"Yes yes." 

The  door  opened,  and  the  general  appeared  on 
the  threshold.  He  scowled  at  the  sight  of  Litvi- 
nofF,  but  saluted  him,  that  is  to  say,  he  swayed  the 
upper  part  of  his  body. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  thou  hadst  a  visitor," — 
he  said:—  "  je  vous  demande  pardon  de  mon  in- 
discretion. And  does  Baden  still  amuse  you, 
Monsieur  ....  LitvinofF? " 

Ratmiroff  always  pronounced  Litvinoff's  sur- 
name with  hestitation,  as  though  he  had  for- 
gotten it  every  time,  and  could  not  immediately 
recall  it.  .  .  By  this  means,  and  by  raising  his  hat 
in  an  exaggerated  manner,  he  meant  to  sting  him. 

"  I  do  not  find  myself  bored  here,  Monsieur 
le  general." 

"  Really?  But  I  have  grown  horribly  tired  of 
Baden.  We  are  going  away  shortly,  are  we  not, 
Irma  Pavlovna?  Assez  de  Bade  comme  fa. 
Moreover,  luckily  for  you,  I  have  won  five  hun- 
dred francs  to-day." 

Irma  coquettishly  held  out  her  hand. 
'  Where  are  they?    Please  give  them  to  me. 
For  pin-money." 

"  I  have  them  ...  I  have  them.  .  . .  But  are  you 
going  already,  M'sieu'  .  .  .  Litvinoff? " 

251 


SMOKE 

'  Yes,  sir,  I  am  going,  as  you  see." 

Again  RatmirofF  swayed  his  body. 

"  Farewell  until  another  pleasant  meeting! " 

"  Good-bye,  Grigory  Mikhailovitch,"— said 
Irina. — "  And  I  shall  keep  my  promise." 

'  What  promise?  if  I  may  be  so  curious  as  to 
inquire?  " — asked  her  husband. 

Irina  smiled. 

"  No— that  is  ...  a  matter  between  ourselves. 
C'est  apropos  du  voyage  .  .  .  ou  il  vous  plaira. 
Art  thou  acquainted  with  Stael's  works?  " 

"  Ah!  of  course,  of  course  I  am.  Very  pretty 
pictures.  .  ." 

RatmirofF  appeared  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
his  wife:  he  addressed  her  as  "  thou." 


252 


XXII 

'Tis  better  not  to  think  about  it,"  Litvinoff  kept 
repeating  to  himself,  as  he  strode  along  the  street, 
and  became  conscious  that  the  turmoil  within  him 
was  rising  once  more.  '  The  matter  is  settled. 
She  will  keep  her  promise,  and  all  I  have  to  do 
is  to  take  all  the  necessary  measures.  .  .  But  she 
seems  to  doubt."  .  .  .  He  shook  his  head.  His 
own  intentions  presented  themselves  to  him  in  an 
odd  light;  there  was  a  touch  of  strangeness  and 
improbability  about  them.  It  is  not  possible  to 
dwell  long  upon  one  and  the  same  set  of  thoughts ; 
they  gradually  shift  their  places,  like  bits  of  glass 
in  a  kaleidoscope  ....  and  the  first  one  knows, 
the  figures  before  his  eyes  are  totally  different. 
A  sensation  of  profound  weariness  overpowered 
Litvmoff.  .  .  He  longed  to  rest  for  an  hour.  .  . 
But  Tanya?  He  gave  a  start,  and  without  re- 
flecting further,  submissively  wended  his  way 
home,  and  the  only  thing  which  occurred  to  him 
was  that  to-day  he  was  being  tossed  from  one 
woman  to  another,  like  a  ball.  .  .  It  mattered 
not :  he  had  been  compelled  to  make  an  end  of  it. 
He  entered  the  hotel,  and  in  the  same  submissive 
manner,  without  hesitation  or  delay,  he  betook 
himself  to  Tatyana. 

253 


SMOKE 

He  was  met  by  Kapitolina  Markovna.  With 
his  first  glance  at  her,  he  recognised  the  fact  that 
she  knew  everything:  the  poor  spinster's  eyes 
were  swollen  with  tears,  and  her  reddened  face, 
framed  in  rumpled  white  hair,  expressed  alarm 
and  the  pain  of  indignation,  of  burning  and 
boundless  amazement.  She  darted  toward 
LitvinofF,  but  instantly  paused,  and  biting  her 
quivering  lips,  she  gazed  at  him,  as  though  she 
wished  to  entreat  him,  and  slay  him,  and  convince 
herself  that  all  this  was  a  dream,  madness,  an  im- 
possible affair,  was  it  not? 

"  Here,  you  .  .  you  have  come,  you  have  come," 
she  began.  .  .  The  door  leading  into  the  adjoining 
room  instantly  flew  open— and  Tatyana,  pale  to 
transparency,  entered  with  a  light  step. 

She  softly  embraced  her 'aunt  with  one  arm, 
and  made  her  sit  down  by  her  side. 

"  Do  you  sit  down  also  Grigory  Mikhailitch," 
—she  said  to  Litvinoff,  who  was  standing,  as 
though  bewildered,  near  the  door.—  "  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you  again.  I  have  communicated 
your  decision,  our  mutual  decision,  to  aunty;  she 
shares  it  entirely,  and  approves  of  it.  .  .  With- 
out mutual  love  there  can  be  no  happiness; 
mutual  respect  alone  is  not  sufficient  "  (at  the 
word  "  respect "  Litvfnoff  involuntarily  cast 
down  his  eyes),  "  and  it  is  better  to  part  before- 
hand, than  to  repent  afterward.  Is  n't  that  true, 
aunty? " 

254 


SMOKE 

'  Yes,  of  course,"— began  Kapitolina  Mar- 
kovna,— "  of  course,  Taniusha,  the  man  who  does 
not  know  how  to  value  you  .  .  .  who  has  made  up 
his  mind  .  .  ." 

"  Aunty,  aunty," — Tatyana  interrupted  her, 
— "  remember  what  you  promised  me.  You 
yourself  have  always  said  to  me :  '  the  truth,  the 
truth  before  everything,  and — liberty.'  Well, 
and  truth  is  not  always  sweet,  neither  is  liberty; 
otherwise,  wherein  would  our  merit  lie?  " 

She  kissed  Kapitolina  Markovna  tenderly  on 
her  white  hair,  and  turning  to  Litvinoff  she  went 
on: 

"  My  aunt  and  I  have  decided  to  leave  Baden. 
.  .  I  think  it  will  be  easier  so  for  all  of  us." 

'  When  do  you  think  of  going? " — said 
Litvinoff,  in  a  dull  voice.  He  recalled  that 
Irina  had  said  the  very  same  words  to  him  not 
long  before. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  was  on  the  point  of 
starting  forward,  but  Tatyana  restrained  her, 
touching  her  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Probably  soon,  very  soon." 

"  And  will  you  permit  me  to  inquire  whither 
you  intend  to  go? "  asked  LitvinoiF  in  the  same 
voice  as  before. 

"  First  to  Dresden,  then,  probably,  to  Russia." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  to  know  that  for  now, 
Grigory  Mikhailitch?  "  .  .  exclaimed  Kapitolina 
Markovna. 

255 


SMOKE 

"  Aunty,  aunty,"  interposed  Tatyana  again. 
A  brief  silence  ensued. 

'  Tatyana  Petrovna,"— began  Litvinoff,— 
"  you  understand  what  a  torturingly— painful 
and  sorrowful  feeling  I  must  be  experiencing  at 
this  moment.  .  .  ." 

Tatyana  rose. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailitch,"— she  said,—"  let  us 
not  talk  about  that.  .  .  .  Please,  I  entreat  you,  for 
your  own  sake  as  well  as  for  mine.  I  cannot  rec- 
ognise you  since  yesterday,  and  I  can  very  well 
imagine  that  you  must  be  suffering  now.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  talking,  what  is  the  use  of  irri- 
tating .  .  .  ."  (She  paused:  it  was  evident  that 
she  wished  to  wait  until  her  rising  emotion  was 
allayed,  to  swallow  the  tears  which  were  already 
welling  up ;  and  in  this  she  succeeded. )  '  What 
is  the  use  of  irritating  the  wound  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  heal?  Let  us  leave  that  to  time.  But 
now  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you,  Grigory 
Mikhailitch:  I  will  give  you  a  letter  presently; 
be  so  good  as  to  post  that  letter  yourself,  it  is  of 
considerable  importance,  and  aunty  and  I  have 
no  time  now.  ...  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you.  Wait  a  moment.  .  .  I  will  return  imme- 
diately. .  .  ." 

On  the  threshold  of  the  door  Tatyana  cast  an 
apprehensive  glance  at  Kapitolina  Markovna; 
but  the  latter  was  sitting  in  so  dignified  and  de- 
corous an  attitude,  with  such  a  severe  expression 

256 


SMOKE 

on  her  frowning  brow  and  tightly-compressed 
lips,  that  Tatyana  only  nodded  to  her,  and  left  the 
room. 

But  the  door  had  barely  closed  behind  her,  when 
all  expression  of  dignity  and  severity  instanta- 
neously vanished  from  the  face  of  Kapitolina 
Markovna:  she  rose,  rushed  up  to  LitvinofF  on 
tiptoe,  and  bending  double,  and  striving  to  look 
into  his  eyes,  she  began  to  speak  in  a  hurried, 
tearful  whisper: 

"  O  Lord  my  God,"— said  she,—"  Grigory 
Mikhailitch,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this:  is  it 
a  dream?  You  reject  Tanya,  you  have  ceased 
to  love  her,  you  have  betrayed  your  word!  You 
are  doing  this,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  you,  in 
whom  we  all  had  trusted  as  in  a  wall  of  stone! 
You?  You?  Thou,  Grisha?  .  .  ."  Kapitolina 
Markovna  paused.—"  Why,  you  are  killing  her, 
Grigory  Mikhailitch,"— she  went  on,  without 
awaiting  an  answer,  and  her  tears  fairly  streamed, 
in  tiny  drops,  down  her  cheeks.—"  You  need  not 
regard  the  fact  that  she  is  keeping  up  her  cour- 
age, for  you  know  what  her  disposition  is!  She 
never  complains ;  she  never  pities  herself,  so  others 
must  pity  her !  Here  she  is  now,  persuading  me : 
'  Aunty,  we  must  maintain  our  dignity! '  but  who 
cares  about  dignity,  when  I  foresee  death,  death. 
.  .  ."  Tatyana  made  a  noise  with  a  chair  in  the 
adjoining  room.—"  Yes,  I  foresee  death,"— re- 
sumed the  old  woman,  in  a  still  softer  voice.— 

257 


SMOKE 

"  And  what  can  have  happened  ?  Have  you  been 
bewitched?  It  was  not  so  very  long  ago,  was  it, 
that  you  were  writing  her  the  tenderest  sort  of 
letters?  Yes,  and  in  conclusion,  can  an  honest 
man  behave  in  this  manner?  I,  as  you  know,  am 
a  woman  wholly  devoid  of  prejudices,  esprit  fort, 
and  I  have  given  Tanya  the  same  sort  of  educa- 
tion— she,  also,  has  a  free  spirit.  .  .  ." 

"  Aunty!  "  rang  out  Tatyana's  voice  from  the 
next  room. 

"But  your  word  of  honour,— this  is  duty, 
Grigory  Mikhailitch.  Especially  for  people  with 
your — with  our  principles!  If  we  do  not  recog- 
nise duty,  what  is  left  to  us?  That  must  not  be 
violated — in  this  way,  at  one's  own  caprice,  with- 
out considering  what  is  to  be  the  result  on  others ! 
This  is  dishonest  .  .  .  yes,  it  is  a  crime ;  what  sort 
of  freedom  is  this?  " 

"  Aunty,  come  here,  please," — rang  out  again. 

"  In  a  minute,  my  darling,  in  a  minute.  .  ." 
Kapitolina  Markovna  seized  Litvinoff  by  the 
hand. — "  I  see  you  are  angry,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch. .  ."  ("I?  I  am  angry?"  he  tried  to  ex- 
claim, but  his  tongue  was  benumbed.)  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  make  you  angry — O  Lord!  am  I  in  any 
mood  for  that?  On  the  contrary,  I  wish  to  entreat 
you:  change  your  mind  while  still  there  is  time; 
do  not  destroy  her,  do  not  destroy  your  own 
happiness;  she  will  trust  you  again,  Grigory 
Mikhailitch,  she  will  trust  you  again;  nothing 

258 


SMOKE 

is  lost  yet;  for  she  loves  you  as  no  one  ever  will 
love  you!  Abandon  this  hateful  Baden-Baden, 
let  us  go  away  together,  only  get  away  from  un- 
der this  spell,  and,  the  chief  thing  of  all,  have 
pity,  have  pity.  .  ." 

"  But  aunty,"— said  Tatyana,  with  a  trace  of 
impatience  in  her  voice. 

But  Kapitolina  Markovna  did  not  obey  her. 

"  Only  say  yes,"— she  persisted  to  Litvinoff, 

"  and  I  will  arrange  all  the  rest.  .  .  Come,  at 
least  nod  your  head  at  me!  nod  your  head,  just 
once,  like  this !  "  Litvinoff  felt  as  though  he 
would  gladly  have  died  at  that  moment;  but  he 
did  not  utter  the  word  "  yes,"  and  he  did  not  nod 
his  head. 

Tatyana  made  her  appearance,  letter  in  hand. 
Kapitolina  Markovna  instantly  sprang  away 
from  Litvinoff,  and  turning  her  face  aside,  bent 
low  over  the  table,  as  though  she  were  inspecting 
the  bills  and  papers  which  lay  upon  it. 

Tatyana  approached  Litvinoff. 

"  Here,"— said  she,—"  this  is  the  letter  of 
which  I  spoke  to  you.  .  .  You  will  go  immedi- 
ately to  the  post-office,  will  you  not?  " 

Litvinoff  raised  his  eyes.  .  .  Before  him,  in 
very  truth,  stood  his  judge.  Tatyana  seemed 
to  him  taller,  more  stately;  her  face,  beaming 
with  unprecedented  beauty,  had  become  magnifi- 
cently petrified,  as  in  a  statue;  her  bosom  did 
not  rise  and  fall,  and  her  gown,  uniform  in  hue, 

259 


SMOKE 

and  close-fitting,  fell,  like  a  chiton,  in  the  long, 
straight  folds  of  marble  fabrics,  to  her  feet,  which 
it  concealed.  Tatyana  was  gazing  straight  be- 
fore her,  at  Litvinoff  only,  and  her  glance,  also 
smooth  and  cold,  was  the  glance  of  a  statue.  In 
it  he  read  his  sentence;  he  bowed,  took  the  letter 
from  the  hand  which  was  immovably  outstretched 
toward  him  and  silently  departed. 

Kapitolina  Markovna  flew  at  Tatyana,  but  the 
latter  repulsed  her  embrace,  and  dropped  her 
eyes;  a  flush  overspread  her  face,  and  with  the 
words,  "  Come,  as  quickly  as  possible  now! "  she 
returned  to  the  bedroom;  Kapitolina  Markovna 
followed  her,  with  drooping  head. 

On  the  letter  intrusted  to  Litvinoff  by  Ta- 
tyana stood  the  address  of  one  of  her  friends 
in  Dresden,  a  German,  who  let  out  small,  fur- 
nished apartments.  Litvinoff  dropped  the  letter 
into  the  post-box,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that, 
along  with  that  little  scrap  of  paper,  he  had  laid 
all  his  past,  his  whole  life,  in  the  grave.  He 
went  out  of  the  town,  and  roamed,  for  a  long 
time,  along  the  narrow  paths  among  the  vine- 
yards; he  could  not  rid  himself  of  an  incessant 
feeling  of  scorn  for  himself,  which  beset  him  like 
the  buzzing  of  an  importunate  summer  fly:  he 
certainly  had  played  a  far  from  enviable  part  in 
this  last  interview.  .  .  .  And  when  he  returned  to 
the  hotel  and,  a  little  while  later,  inquired  about 
his  ladies,  he  was  informed  that  immediately 

260 


SMOKE 

after  his  departure  they  had  ordered  themselves 
to  be  driven  to  the  railway  station,  and  had  set  off, 
with  the  mail-train,  no  one  knew  whither.  Their 
things  had  been  packed  and  their  bills  paid  since 
the  morning.  Tatyana  had  requested  Litvinoff 
to  take  the  letter  to  the  post-office,  evidently  with 
a  view  to  getting  him  out  of  the  way.  He  tried 
to  question  the  door-porter:  "  Had  not  the  ladies 
left  a  note  for  him?  "  but  the  porter  replied  in  the 
negative,  and  even  manifested  surprise;  it  was 
plain  that  this  sudden  departure  from  rooms  en- 
gaged for  a  week  struck  him  as  strange  and  sus- 
picious. Litvinoff  turned  his  back  on  him,  and 
locked  himself  up  in  his  own  room. 

He  did  not  leave  it  until  the  following  day; 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  night  he  sat  at  the 
table,  writing  and  tearing  up  what  he  had  writ- 
ten. .  .  Daylight  had  already  begun  to  dawn 
when  he  finished  his  work, — which  was  a  letter  to 
Irfna. 


261 


XXIII 

THIS  is  what  the  letter  to  Irina  contained : 

"  My  betrothed  bride  went  away  yesterday :  we  shall 
never  see  each  other  again.  .  .  I  do  not  even  know 
with  certainty  where  she  will  live.  She  carried  away 
with  her  everything  which  hitherto  had  seemed  to  be 
desirable  and  precious;  all  my  purposes,  plans,  inten- 
tions, vanished  along  with  her;  my  very  labours  have 
disappeared,  my  prolonged  toil  has  been  turned  to 
naught,  all  my  occupations  have  lost  their  sense  and 
application;  all  this  is  dead;  my  ego,  my  former  ego, 
died  and  was  buried  with  yesterday.  I  feel  that  plainly, 
I  see,  I  know  it.  .  .  And  I  do  not  complain,  in  the 
least,  of  that.  It  is  not  for  the  purpose  of  complaining 
that  I  have  begun  to  discuss  this  with  thee.  .  .  Have 
I  any  cause  to  complain,  when  thou  lovest  me,  Irina? 
I  only  want  to  tell  thee,  that  out  of  all  this  dead  past, 
out  of  all  these  beginnings  and  hopes — which  have 
turned  to  smoke  and  dust — only  one  living,  invincible 
thing  remains:  my  love  for  thee.  Save  for  this  love, 
I  have  nothing  left;  it  would  not  be  enough  to  call 
it  my  sole  treasure;  I  am  all  in  this  love,  this  love  is 
the  whole  of  me;  in  it  is  my  future,  my  vocation,  my 
holy  things,  my  fatherland !  Thou  knowest  me,  Irina, 
thou  knowest  that  set  phrases  are  foreign  and  abhor- 
rent to  me,  and  however  forcible  may  be  the  words  where- 
with I  strive  to  express  my  feeling,  thou  wilt  not  doubt 

262 


SMOKE 

their  sincerity,  them  wilt  not  consider  them  exaggerated. 
It  is  not  a  boy,  who  is  stammering  out  ill-considered 
vows  before  thee,  in  a  burst  of  momentary  enthusiasm, 
it  is  a  man,  already  tried  by  the  years,  who  simply  and 
straightforwardly,  almost  with  terror,  is  expressing 
that  which  he  has  recognised  to  be  the  indubitable  truth. 
Yes,  thy  love  has  taken  the  place  of  everything  else  with 
me — everything,  everything!  Judge  for  thyself:  can 
I  leave  all  this  in  the  hands  of  another  man,  can  I 
permit  him  to  dispose  of  thee?  Thou,  thou  wilt  belong 
to  him,  all  my  being,  my  heart's  blood,  will  belong  to 
him, — and  I  myself  .  .  .  Where  am  I?  What  am  I? 
I  am  to  stand  on  one  side,  as  a  looker-on  ....  a 
looker-on  at  my  own  life !  No,  this  is  impossible,  impos- 
sible !  To  share,  to  share  by  stealth  in  that  without 
which  it  is  not  worth  while,  without  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  breathe  .  .  .  that  is  a  lie  and  death.  I  know 
how  great  is  the  sacrifice  I  require  of  thee,  without 
having  any  right  so  to  do;  and  what  can  give  one 
a  right  to  a  sacrifice?  But  I  do  not  take  this  step  from 
egoism:  an  egoist  would  find  it  easier  and  more  tran- 
quil not  to  raise  this  question  at  all.  Yes,  my  demands 
are  heavy,  and  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  they  frighten 
thee. — The  people  with  whom  thou  must  live  are  hate- 
ful to  me,  society  oppresses  thee ;  but  hast  thou  the 
strength  to  abandon  that  same  society,  to  trample  un- 
der foot  the  crown  wherewith  it  has  crowned  thee,  to 
arouse  against  thee  public  opinion,  the  opinion  of  those 
hateful  people?  Ask  thyself,  Irina;  do  not  take  upon 
thyself  a  burden  greater  than  thou  canst  bear.  . — 
I  do  not  mean  to  reproach  thee,  but  remember:  once 
before  thou  hast  failed  to  resist  the  charm.  I  can  give 
thee  so  little  in  exchange  for  what  thou  wilt  lose! 

263 


SMOKE 

Hearken  to  my  last  word:  if  thou  dost  not  feel  thyself 
in  a  condition  to  leave  everything  and  follow  me  to- 
morrow, to-day, — thou  seest  how  boldly  I  speak,  how 
little  I  spare  myself, — if  the  uncertainty  of  the  fu- 
ture, and  estrangement,  and  isolation,  and  public  cen- 
sure alarm  thee,  if  thou  canst  not  trust  thyself,  in  a 
word — tell  me  so  frankly  and  without  delay,  and  I  will 
go  away;  I  will  go  away,  with  a  harrowed  soul,  but  I 
will  thank  thee  for  thy  truthfulness.  But  if  thou,  my 
most  beautiful,  my  radiant  empress,  hast  really  come 
to  love  such  a  petty,  obscure  man  as  I,  and  art  really 
ready  to  share  his  lot, — well,  then  give  me  thy  hand,  and 
we  will  set  forth  together  on  our  different  road !  Only, 
thou  must  know  this:  my  resolution  is  firm:  either  all, 
or  nothing!  This  is  madness  .  .  .  but  I  cannot  do 
otherwise,  I  cannot,  Irina!  I  love  thee  too  mightily. 

"Thy  G.  L." 

This  letter  did  not  please  Litvinoff  himself 
very  much.  It  did  not  quite  faithfully  and  ac- 
curately express  what  he  wished  to  say ;  awkward 
expressions,  by  turns  magniloquent  and  bookish, 
occurred  in  it,  and  when  it  was  finished  it  was  no 
better  than  many  of  the  other  letters  which  he  had 
torn  up;  but  it  happened  to  be  the  last  one,  and 
after  all,  the  chief  thing  had  been  said;  and 
weary,  exhausted,  Litvinoff  did  not  feel  himself 
capable  of  extracting  anything  else  from  his 
head.  Moreover,  he  did  not  possess  the  skill  to  set 
forth  his  whole  thought  in  literary  form,  and,  like 
all  persons  who  are  not  accustomed  to  this,  he 

264 


SMOKE 

worried  over  the  style.    His  first  letter  had,  prob- 
ably, been  the  best:  it  had  poured  forth  burning 
hot  from  his  heart.    At  any  rate,  Litvinoff  des- 
patched his  epistle  to  Irina. 
She  replied  with  a  brief  note: 

"  Come  to  me  to-day,"  she  wrote  to  him ;  "  he  has 
gone  off  for  the  whole  day.  Thy  letter  has  agitated 
me  extremely.  I  keep  thinking,  thinking  .  .  .  and 
my  head  is  dizzy  with  my  thoughts.  I  am  greatly  dis- 
tressed, but  thou  lovest  me,  and  I  am  happy. 

"  Thy  I." 

She  was  sitting  in  her  boudoir  when  Litvinoff 
presented  himself  to  her.  He  was  ushered  in  by 
the  same  thirteen-year-old  girl  who  had  kept 
watch  for  him  on  the  staircase  the  day  before. 
On  the  table,  in  front  of  Irina,  stood  an  open, 
semicircular  pasteboard  box  filled  with  laces;  she 
was  abstractedly  turning  them  over  with  one 
hand;  in  the  other  she  held  Litvinoff's  letter. 
She  had  only  just  stopped  crying:  her  eyelashes 
were  wet,  and  her  eyelids  were  swollen ;  the  traces 
of  tears  which  had  not  been  wiped  away  were 
visible  on  her  cheeks.  Litvinoff  halted  on  the 
threshold:  she  had  not  observed  his  entrance. 

'  Thou  art  weeping? "  he  said  in  amazement. 

She  started,  passed  her  hand  over  her  hair,  and 
smiled. 

'  Why  art  thou  weeping?  "—repeated  Litvi- 
noff. She  silently  pointed  to  the  letter. 

265 


SMOKE 

"  So  thou  art  crying  over  that  .  .  ."  he  said, 
haltingly. 

"  Come  here,  sit  down," — she  said,—  "  give  me 
thy  hand.  Well,  yes,  I  have  been  crying. . .  .Why 
does  that  surprise  thee?  Is  this  easy?"  Again 
she  pointed  at  the  letter.  Litvinoff  sat  down. 

"  I  know  that  it  is  not  easy,  Irma;  I  say  the 
same  thing  to  thee  in  my  letter.  .  .  I  understand 
thy  position.  But  if  thou  believest  in  the  signi- 
ficance of  thy  love  for  me,  if  my  words  have  con- 
vinced thee,  thou  must  also  understand  what  I 
now  feel  at  the  sight  of  thy  tears.  I  have  come 
hither  like  a  condemned  man,  but  I  am  waiting: 
what  will  be  announced  to  me?  Death  or  life? 
Thy  answer  will  decide  everything.  Only,  do 
not  look  at  me  with  such  eyes.  .  .  .  They  remind 
me  of  the  eyes  of  days  gone  by,  the  Moscow- 
eyes." 

Irma  suddenly  blushed  and  turned  away,  as 
though  she  herself  were  conscious  of  something 
improper  in  her  gaze. 

;'  Why  dost  thou  say  that,  Grigory?  Art  not 
thou  ashamed  of  thyself?  Thou  wishest  to  know 
my  answer  ....  but  canst  thou  doubt  it?  Thy 
letter,  my  friend,  has  set  me  to  thinking.  Thou 
writest  here  that  my  love  has  replaced  all  else 
for  thee,  that  even  thy  former  occupations  must 
now  remain  without  application;  but  I  ask  thee: 
Can  a  man  live  by  love  alone?  Will  it  not  pal] 
on  him  in  the  end,  will  not  he  long  for  activity, 

266 


SMOKE 

and  will  not  he  upbraid  that  which  has  alienated 
him  from  it?  That  is  the  thought  which  terrifies 
me;  that  is  what  I  fear,  and  not  that  which  thou 
hast  proposed." 

Litvinoff  gazed  attentively  at  Irina,  and  Irina 
gazed  attentively  at  him  as  though  each  of  them 
was  desirous  of  penetrating  further  and  more 
profoundly  into  the  soul  of  the  other,  further  and 
more  profoundly  than  the  spoken  word  can  at- 
tain, or  reveal. 

'  There  is  no  necessity  for  thy  fearing  that,"— 
began  Litvinoff.—  "  I  must  have  expressed  my- 
self badly.—"  Boredom?  Inactivity?  With  the 
new  forces  which  thy  love  will  give  me?  Oh, 
Irina,  believe  me,  thy  love  is  all  the  world  to 
me,  and  I  myself  cannot  now  foresee  all  that  may 
develop  from  it! " 

Irina  became  thoughtful. 

"  But  where  are  we  to  go?  " — she  whispered. 

'  Where?  We  will  talk  about  that  hereafter. 
But,  of  course  ...  of  course,  thou  consentest 
.  .  .  thou  consentest,  Irina? " 

She  looked  at  him.— "And  thou  wilt  be 
happy? " 

"Oh,  Irina!" 

'  Thou  wilt  regret  nothing?    Never?  " 

She  bent  over  the  box  of  laces,  and  again  began 
to  sort  them  over. 

"  Be  not  angry  with  me,  my  dearest,  if  I  busy 
myself  with  this  nonsense  at  such  a  moment.  .  . 

267 


SMOKE 

I  am  obliged  to  go  to  a  ball,  given  by  a  certain 
lady.  These  rags  have  been  sent  to  me,  and  I 
must  make  my  selection  to-day.  Akh !  I  am  ter- 
ribly distressed!  "—she  suddenly  exclaimed,  and 
laid  her  face  against  the  edge  of  the  box.  .  . 
Again  tears  dropped  from  her  eyes.  .  .  She 
turned  away :  the  tears  might  fall  on  the  lace. 

"  Irina,  thou  art  weeping  again," — began  Lit- 
vinoff,  anxiously. 

4  Well,  yes,  I  am,"— assented  Irina.— "Akh, 
Grigory,  do  not  torture  me,  do  not  torture  thy- 
self! . . .  Let  us  be  free  people!  What  is  the  harm 
if  I  do  cry?  Yes,  and  do  I  understand  myself 
why  these  tears  flow?  Thou  knowest,  thou  hast 
heard  my  decision,  thou  art  convinced  that  it  is 
unalterable,  that  I  consent  to  ...  how  was  it  thou 
didst  word  it?  .  .  to  everything  or  nothing  .  .  . 
what  more?  Let  us  be  free!  Why  these  mutual 
chains  ?  Thou  and  I  are  alone  now.  Thou  lovest 
me,  I  love  thee ;  have  we  nothing  better  to  do  than 
to  extort  our  opinions  from  each  other?  Look  at 
me;  I  have  not  tried  to  present  myself  in  a  fine 
light  before  thee,  not  by  so  much  as  a  single  word 
have  I  hinted  at  the  fact,  that  it  may  not  be  so 
easy  for  me  to  trample  under  foot  my  conjugal 
duties.  .  .  But  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  I  know 
that  I  am  a  criminal,  and  that  lie  has  a  right  to 
kill  me.  Well,  and  wrhat  of  that!  Let  us  be 
free,  I  say.  The  clay  is  ours— eternity  is  ours." 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  looked  down  upon 
268 


Litvinoff,  smiling  faintly,  and  narrowing  her 
eyelids,  and  with  her  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow, 
sweeping  back  a  long  lock  of  hair,  upon  which 
sparkled  two  or  three  tears.  A  rich  lace  shoulder- 
cape  slipped  from  the  table  and  fell  on  the  floor, 
at  Irina's  feet.  She  trod  upon  it  with  scorn.— 
"  Do  not  I  please  thee  to-day?  Have  I  grown 
ugly  since  yesterday?  Tell  me,  hast  thou  often 
beheld  a  more  beautiful  arm?  And  my  hair? 
Tell  me,  dost  thou  love  me?  " 

She  seized  him  with  both  arms,  pressed  his 
head  to  her  breast ;  her  comb  rattled  and  fell,  and 
her  loosened  hair  flowed  over  him  in  a  soft,  per- 
fumed flood. 


XXIV 

LITVINOFF  paced  to  and  fro  in  his  room  at  the 
hotel,  with  thoughtfully  drooping  head.  It  now 
behoved  him  to  pass  from  theory  to  practice,  to 
seek  the  means  and  the  road  for  a  flight,  for  an 
emigration  to  unknown  lands.  .  .  But,  strange  to 
say,  he  was  not  meditating  about  these  means  and 
roads  so  much  as  on  the  point, — had  the  resolu- 
tion on  which  he  had  so  obstinately  insisted  been 
actually,  indubitably  taken?  Had  the  final,  ir- 
revocable word  been  uttered?  But,  surely, 
Irina  had  said  to  him  at  parting :  "  Act,  act,  and 
when  everything  is  ready,  thou  hast  only  to 
inform  me."  It  was  settled!  Away  with  all 
doubts.  .  .  He  must  proceed.  And  Litvinoff  had 
proceeded— so  far — to  meditation.  First  of  all, 
there  was  the  question  of  money.  Litvinoff  had 
on  hand  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  thirty- 
eight  gulden — in  French  money  two  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  fifty-eight  francs;  it  was  an 
insignificant  sum,  but  sufficient  for  their  first 
necessities,  and  so  he  must  write  at  once  to  his 
father  to  send  him  as  much  as  possible :  he  might 
sell  a  forest,  a  bit  of  land. .  .  But  under  what  pre- 
text? .  .  .  Well,  a  pretext  would  be  found.  Irina 

270 


SMOKE 

had  spoken,  it  is  true,  of  her  bijoux,  but  it  was  not 
proper  to  take  that  into  consideration ;  who  knows 
but  they  might  serve  for  a  rainy  day.  In  addi- 
tion, among  his  assets  was  a  fine  Geneva  half- 
chronometer  watch,  for  which  he  might  get . .  say, 
four  hundred  francs.  Litvinoff  betook  himself 
to  his  bankers,  and  turned  the  conversation,  in  a 
roundabout  way,  on  the  subject  whether  it  would 
be  possible,  in  case  of  need,  to  borrow  money. 
But  the  bankers  in  Baden  are  an  experienced 
and  cautious  folk,  and  in  reply  to  such  rounda- 
bout hints  immediately  assume  a  decrepit,  lan- 
guid mien,  precisely  like  that  of  a  field-flower 
whose  stem  has  been  severed  by  the  scjrthe;  sev- 
eral of  them,  however,  laugh  cheerfully  and 
boldly  in  your  face,  as  though  they  appreciate 
your  innocent  jest.  LitvinofF,  to  his  own  mortifi- 
cation, even  tried  his  luck  at  roulette,  even— oh, 
the  ignominy! — placed  a  thaler  on  thirty  num- 
bers, corresponding  to  the  number  of  his  years. 
He  did  this  with  a  view  to  augmenting  and 
rounding  out  his  capital;  and,  in  fact,  if  he  did 
not  augment,  he  did  round  out  his  capital,  by 
losing  the  extra  twenty-eight  gulden.  The 
second  question  was,  also,  of  no  little  importance : 
A  passport.  But  a  passport  is  not  so  obligatory 
for  a  woman,  and  there  are  countries  where  it  is 
not  required  at  all.  Belgium,  for  example,  or 
England;  and,  in  conclusion,  a  passport  which 
was  not  Russian  might  be  obtained.  Litvinoff 

271 


SMOKE 

reflected  very  seriously  on  all  these  things.  His 
resolution  was  strong,  without  the  slightest  trace 
of  wavering ;  but  in  the  meantime,  contrary  to  his 
will,  against  his  will,  something  the  reverse  of 
serious,  something  almost  comic,  passed  through, 
leaked  through  his  meditations,  as  though  his 
enterprise  itself  were  a  matter  of  jest,  and  no  one 
had  ever  eloped  with  any  one  in  reality,  but  only 
in  comedies  and  romances,  and,  possibly,  some- 
where in  the  provincial  tracts,  in  some  Tchukhlom 
or  Syzran  district,  where,  according  to  the  state- 
ment of  one  traveller,  people  even  vomit  with 
tedium  at  times.  At  this  point  it  recurred  to 
Litvinoff's  memory  how  one  of  his  friends,  cor- 
net Batzoff ,  on  the  retired  list,  had  carried  off 
a  merchant's  daughter  in  a  post-sledge  with 
sleigh-bells,  having  preliminarily  got  her  parents, 
and  even  the  bride  herself,  intoxicated,  and  how 
it  had  afterward  turned  out  that  he  had  been 
cheated,  and  almost  killed  outright,  to  boot. 
Litvmoff  waxed  extremely  wroth  with  himself 

mi 

for  such  inappropriate  recollections,  and  then, 
recalling  Tatyana,  her  sudden  departure,  all  that 
woe  and  suffering  and  shame,  he  became  but 
too  profoundly  conscious  that  the  deed  which  he 
was  contemplating  was  of  anything  but  a  face- 
tious nature,  and  that  he  had  been  in  the  right 
when  he  had  said  to  Irina  that  no  other  issue  was 
left,  for  his  own  honour's  sake.  .  .  And  again,  at 
this  mere  name,  something  burning  momentarily 

272 


SMOKE 

enveloped  him  with  a  sweet  anguish,  then  died 
away  around  his  heart. 

The  trampling  of  a  horse's  hoofs  resounded  he- 
hind  him.  .  .  He  stepped  aside  .  .  Irina  had  over- 
taken him  on  horseback ;  by  her  side  rode  the  fat 
general.  She  recognised  Litvinoff,  nodded  her 
head  to  him,  and  giving  her  horse  a  blow  on  the 
withers  with  her  whip,  started  it  into  a  gallop, 
then  suddenly  urged  it  onward  at  full  speed.  Her 
dark  veil  floated  in  the  wind.  .  . 

"  Pas  si  vite!    Nom  de  Dieu!  pas  si  vite! " 
shouted  the  general,  and  galloped  after  her. 


273 


XXV 

ON  the  following  morning,  Litvinoff  had  just 
returned  home  from  his  bankers,  with  whom  he 
had  had  another  conference  about  the  playful 
unsteadiness  of  our  rate  of  exchange,  and  the  best 
method  of  sending  money  abroad,  when  the  door- 
porter  handed  him  a  letter.  He  recognised 
Irma's  handwriting,  and  without  breaking  the 
seal— an  evil  premonition  awoke  in  him,  God  only 
knows  why— he  went  off  to  his  own  room.  This 
is  what  he  read  (the  letter  was  written  in  French) : 

"  MY  DEAREST  !  I  have  been  thinking  all  night  about 
thy  proposition.  .  .  I  will  not  deceive  thee.  Thou  hast 
been  frank  with  me,  and  I  will  be  frank:  I  cannot  elope 
with  thee,  I  have  not  the  strength  to  do  it.  I  feel  how 
culpable  I  am  toward  thee;  my  second  fault  is  greater 
than  the  first — I  despise  myself,  my  cowardice;  I  over- 
whelm myself  with  reproaches,  but  I  cannot  change 
myself.  In  vain  do  I  demonstrate  to  myself  that  I 
have  ruined  thy  happiness,  that  thou  now  hast  a  right 
to  regard  me  merely  as  a  frivolous  coquette,  that  I 
offered  myself,  that  I  myself  gave  thee  a  solemn  prom- 
ise. .  .  I  am  horrified ;  I  feel  hatred  toward  myself,  but 
I  cannot  act  otherwise — I  cannot,  I  cannot.  I  do  not 
seek  to  justify  myself;  I  will  not  tell  thee  that  I  myself 

274 


SMOKE 

was  carried  away  ....  all  that  signifies  nothing;  but 
I  do  wish  to  tell  thee,  and  to  repeat  it,  and  repeat  it 
yet  again:  I  am  thine,  thine  forever,  do  with  me  as 
thou  wilt,  when  thou  wilt:  without  resistance  or  calcu- 
lation, I  am  thine.  .  .  But  flee,  abandon  everything. 
.  .  no !  no !  no !  I  entreated  thee  to  save  me.  I  myself 
hoped  to  obliterate  everything,  to  consume  everything, 
as  in  the  fire  .  .  .  but  evidently,  there  is  no  salvation 
for  me;  evidently,  the  poison  has  penetrated  too  deeply 
within  me;  evidently,  it  is  not  possible  to  breathe  this 
atmosphere  for  a  space  of  many  years  with  impunity ! 
I  have  wavered  long  whether  I  ought  to  write  thee  this 
letter;  it  is  terrible  to  me  to  reflect  what  decision  thou 
wilt  arrive  at;  I  trust  only  in  thy  love  for  me.  But  I 
have  considered  that  it  would  be  dishonest  on  my  part 
not  to  tell  thee  the  truth — the  more  so  as  thou  hast,  per- 
haps, already  begun  to  take  the  first  measures  for  the 
accomplishment  of  our  intention.  Akh!  it  was  very 
beautiful,  but  impossible  of  fulfilment !  Oh,  my  friend, 
regard  me  as  a  weak,  frivolous  woman;  despise  me,  but 
do  not  desert  me,  do  not  desert  thy  Irina !  .  .  .  I  have 
not  the  strength  to  abandon  this  society,  but  neither 
can  I  live  in  it  without  thee.  We  shall  soon  return 
to  Petersburg;  do  thou  come  thither;  dwell  there;  we 
will  find  occupation  for  thee;  thy  past  labours  shall 
not  be  wasted;  thou  shalt  find  a  profitable  application 
for  them  .  .  .  only  live  near  me,  only  love  me  as  I 
am,  with  all  my  weaknesses  and  vices,  and  understand 
fully  that  no  one's  heart  will  ever  be  so  tenderly  devoted 
to  thee  as  the  heart  of  thy  Irina.  Come  quickly  to 
me;  I  shall  not  have  a  minute's  peace  until  I  see  thee. 

"  Thine,  thine,  thine,  I." 

275 


SMOKE 

The  blood  beat  like  a  hammer  in  Litvinoff 's 
head,  and  then  slowly  and  heavily  retreated  to 
his  heart,  and  became  as  cold  within  him  as  a 
stone.  He  read  over  Irina's  letter,  and,  as  on 
that  other  occasion  in  Moscow,  fell  fainting  on 
the  divan,  and  remained  there  motionless.  A 
dark  abyss  had  suddenly  surrounded  him  on  all 
sides,  and  he  stared  despairingly,  bereft  of 
reason,  into  the  gloom.  Thus,  once  more 
betrayal,  or  no,  worse  than  betrayal— a  lie  and 
trivialities. . .  And  life  was  shattered ;  everything 
had  been  torn  up  by  the  roots,  utterly,  and  the 
only  thing  to  which  he  might  have  clung— that 
last  support — was  shattered  into  fragments  also! 
"  Follow  us  to  Petersburg,"— he  repeated  with 
a  bitter,  inward  laugh:  "  we  will  find  occupation 
for  thee  there  "  .  .  .  "  Will, they  promote  me  to 
be  head  clerk  of  a  department,  I  wonder?  And 
who  is  we?  That  is  where  her  past  spoke  out! 
There  lies  the  secret,  repulsive  thing,  which  I  do 
not  know,  but  which  she  would  like  to  obliterate, 
and  burn  as  in  the  fire!  That  is  that  world  of 
intrigues,  of  secret  relations,  of  scandals  of  Byel- 
skys  and  Dolskys.  .  .  And  what  a  future! 
what  a  splendid  role  awaits  me!  To  live  near 
her,  to  visit  her,  to  share  with  her  the  vicious  mel- 
ancholy of  a  fashionable  lady  whom  society  op- 
presses and  bores,  though  she  cannot  exist  outside 
its  circle,  to  be  her  domestic  friend,  and,  of  course, 
the  friend  of  His  Excellency  also  .  .  .  until  .  .  . 

276 


SMOKE 

until  her  whim  is  past,  and  the  plebeian  friend 
loses  his  piquancy,  and  that  same  fat  general  or 
Mr.  Fmikoff  replaces  him,— that  is  both  possible 
and  agreeable,  and,  if  you  like,  profitable  .  .  . 
she  speaks  of  a  profitable  application  of  my 
talents?— but  that  design  is  impossible  of  realisa- 
tion, impossible  of  realisation!  ..."  In  Litvi- 
noff's  soul  there  arose  something  in  the  nature 
of  the  momentary  gusts  of  wind  which  precede  a 
thunderstorm — sudden,  wild  outbursts.  .  .  Every 
expression  in  Irma's  letter  aroused  his  indigna- 
tion; the  very  assurances  as  to  the  immutability 
of  her  feelings  affronted  him.  "  Things  can- 
not remain  like  this,"— he  exclaimed  at  last, — "  I 
will  not  permit  her  to  play  so  pitilessly  with  my 
life.  .  ." 

LitvinofF  sprang  up,  seized  his  hat.  But  what 
was  there  to  be  done?  Fly  to  her?  Reply  to 
her  letter?  He  halted,  and  his  arms  sank  by  his 
sides. 

Yes:  what  was  there  to  be  done? 

Had  he  not  himself  proposed  to  her  that  fatal 
choice?  It  had  not  turned  out  as  he  had  wished. . , 
every  choice  is  subject  to  that  misfortune.  She 
had  changed  her  decision,  it  is  true;  she  herself 
had  been  the  first  to  declare  that  she  would 
abandon  everything  and  follow  him — that  was 
true  also.  But  neither  did  she  deny  her  guilt,  she 
called  herself,  in  plain  terms,  a  weak  woman ;  she 
had  not  meant  to  deceive  him,  she  had  been  de- 

277 


SMOKE 

ceived  in  herself What  retort  was  there 

to  make?  At  all  events,  she  was  not  dissimulat- 
ing, not  dealing  doubly  with  him  .  .  .  she  was 
frank  with  him,  pitilessly  frank.  Nothing  had 
forced  her  to  state  her  intentions  on  the  spot, 
nothing  had  prevented  her  soothing  him  with 
promises,  putting  off  everything,  leaving  every- 
thing in  uncertainty,  until  their  very  departure 
.  .  .  her  departure  with  her  husband  for  Italy! 
But  she  had  ruined  his  life,  she  had  ruined  two 
lives!  .  .  .  Was  not  that  enough? 

But  toward  Tatyana  she  was  not  to  blame; 
he  was  to  blame,  he  alone,  Litvinoff,  and  he 
had  no  right  to  shake  off  from  himself  the 
responsibility  for  that  which  his  fault  had 
imposed,  like  an  iron  yoke,  upon  him.  .  .  . 
All  that  was  so;  but  what  remained  to  be  done 
now? 

Again  he  flung  himself  on  the  divan,  and 
again,  darkly,  leaving  no  trace,  with  devouring 
swiftness  .  .  .  the  moments  flitted  past.  .  . 

"  And  why  not  obey  her?  "—flashed  through 
his  mind.  "  She  loves  me,  she  is  mine— and  in 
our  very  attraction  for  each  other,  in  that  pas- 
sion which,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  has 
broken  out  and  made  its  way  forth  to  the  sur- 
face with  such  violence,  is  there  not  something 
inevitable,  irresistible  as  the  law  of  nature?  Live 
in  Petersburg  .  .  .  but  shall  I  be  the  first  man 
who  finds  himself  in  such  a  position?  Yes,  and 

278 


SMOKE 

where  could  she  and  I  have  found  a  refuge? . . ." 
And  he  fell  into  thought,  and  the  image  of 
Irina,  in  that  aspect  in  which  it  had  forever  im- 
printed itself  on  his  most  recent  recollections, 
softly  presented  itself  before  him.  .  .  . 

But  not  for  long.  . .  He  recovered  himself,  and 
with  a  fresh  outburst  of  indignation,  he  thrust 
away  from  him  both  those  recollections,  and  that 
enchanting  image. 

'  Thou  art  giving  me  to  drink  of  that  golden 
cup,"— he  exclaimed, — "  but  there  is  poison  in 
thy  beverage,  and  thy  white  wings  are  soiled 
with  filth.  .  .  Away!  To  remain  here  with  thee, 
after  having  .  .  .  driven  away,  driven  away  my 
betrothed  bride  .  .  .  would  be  a  dishonourable,  a 
dishonourable  act !  "  He  clenched  his  fists  bit- 
terly, and  another  face,  with  the  imprint  of 
suffering  and  set  features,  with  speechless  re- 
proach in  the  farewell  glance,  surged  up  from 
the  depths.  .  . 

And  for  a  long  time  Litvinoff  tormented 
himself  in  this  manner;  for  a  long  time,  like  a 
critically  sick  man,  his  tortured  thoughts  tossed 
from  side  to  side.  .  .  At  last  he  calmed  down ;  at 
last  he  reached  a  decision.  From  the  very  first 
moment  he  had  foreseen  what  that  decision 
would  be  ...  it  presented  itself  to  him,  at  first, 
as  a  remote,  barely-perceptible  spot  in  the  midst 
of  the  whirlwind  and  the  gloom  of  his  internal 
conflict ;  then  it  began  to  come  nearer  and  nearer, 

279 


SMOKE 

and  ended  by  cutting  into  his  heart  with  a  cold, 
sharp  blade. 

Again  LitvinofF  dragged  his  trunk  forth  from 
the  corner;  again,  without  haste,  and  even  with 
a  certain  dull  carefulness,  he  packed  all  his 
things,  rang  for  a  servant,  paid  his  bill,  and 
despatched  a  note  in  Russian,  to  Irina,  which 
ran  as  follows: 

"I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  more  to  blame  with 
respect  to  me  now  than  you  were  in  days  gone  by ;  but  I 
do  know  that  the  present  blow  is  much  the  stronger.  .  . 
This  is  the  end.  You  say  to  me :  'I  cannot ' ;  and  I 
repeat  the  same  to  you :  I  cannot  ...  do  what  you  wish. 
I  cannot,  and  I  will  not.  Do  not  answer  me.  You 
are  not  in  a  position  to  give  me  the  only  answer  which  I 
would  accept.  I  am  going  away  to-morrow,  early,  by  the 
first  train.  Farewell;  may  you  be  happy.  .  .  Probably 
we  shall  not  meet  again." 

LitvinofF  did  not  leave  his  room  until  night- 
fall; God  knows  whether  he  was  expecting  any- 
thing! About  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  a 
lady  in  a  black  mantle,  with  a  veil  over  her  face, 
walked  twice  past  the  entrance  of  his  hotel. 
After  stepping  a  little  to  one  side,  and  casting 
a  glance  at  some  point  in  the  distance,  she  sud- 
denly made  a  decisive  movement,  and  for  the 
third  time  directed  her  steps  toward  the  en- 
trance. .  . 

280 


SMOKE 

'  Whither  are  you  going,  Irina  Pavlovna? " 
—rang  out  a  constrained  voice  behind  her. 

She  turned  round  with  convulsive  swiftness.  . 
Potiigin  rushed  up  to  her. 

She  halted,  reflected,  and  fairly  flung  herself 
at  him,  thrust  her  arm  in  his,  and  drew  him 
aside. 

'  Take  me  away,  take  me  away,"— she  kept 
repeating,  panting. 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Irina  Pav- 
lovna? "  —he  murmured,  in  amazement. 

'  Take  me  away,"— she  repeated  with  re- 
doubled force,—"  if  you  do  not  wish  to  have  me 
remain  forever  ....  there!  " 

Potugin  bowed  his  head  submissively,  and 
both  walked  rapidly  away. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Litvinoff 
was  entirely  ready  for  his  journey,  when  there 
came  into  his  room  .  .  .  that  same  Potugin. 

He  silently  approached  him,  and  silently 
shook  his  hand.  Litvinoff,  also,  said  nothing. 
Both  wore  long  faces,  and  both  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  smile. 

"  I  have  come  to  wish  you  a  prosperous  jour- 
ney,"— Potugin  said,  at  last. 

"  And  how  did  you  know  that  I  was  going 
away  to-day?  "  —inquired  Litvinoff. 

Potugin  gazed  around  him,  on  the  floor.  .  . 

'  It  became  known  to  me  ...  as  you  see.     Our 

last  conversation  finally  took  such  a  strange  turn. 

281 


SMOKE 

.  .  I  did  not  wish  to  part  from  you  without  ex- 
pressing to  you  my  sincere  sympathy." 

"  Do  you  sympathise  with  me  now,  when  I 
am  going  away? " 

Potugin  gazed  mournfully  at  Litvmoff.— 
"  Ekh,  Grigory  Mikhailitch,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch," — he  began,  with  a  short  sigh, — "  we  are 
in  no  frame  of  mind  for  that  now,  we  are  in  no 
mood  for  subtleties  and  disputes.  Here  you  are, 
so  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  decidedly  indifferent 
to  our  national  literature,  and  therefore,  perhaps, 
you  have  no  conception  of  Vaska  Buslaeff  ?  " 

"  Of  whom? " 

"  Of  Vaska  BuslaefF,  the  dashing  hero  of 
Novgorod  ...  in  the  Collection  of  Kirsha 
Danileff." 

"  What  Buslaeff?  "—ejaculated  Litvmoff, 
somewhat  dazed  by  the  sudden  turn  which  the 
conversation  had  taken. — "  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  no  matter.  See  here,  this  is  what  I 
wished  to  call  to  your  attention.  Vaska  Bus- 
laeff, after  he  has  dragged  his  Novgorodians 
off  to  Jerusalem  on  a  pilgrimage,  and  there,  to 
their  horror,  has  bathed  naked  in  the  holy  river 
Jordan,  for  he  believed  '  neither  in  bell-clang, 
nor  in  dream,  nor  in  the  croaking  of  birds,' - 
that  logical  Vaska  Buslaeff  ascends  Mount 
Tabor,  and  on  the  crest  of  that  mountain,  lies 
a  huge  stone,  across  which  all  sorts  of  people 
have  tried,  in  vain,  to  leap.  .  .  .  Vaska  wishes  to 

282 


SMOKE 

try  his  luck  also.  And  on  his  way  up  the 
mountain  he  encounters  a  skull,  human  bones; 
he  kicks  it.  Well,  and  the  head  says  to  him: 
'  Why  dost  thou  kick?  I  have  known  how  to 
live;  I  know  also  how  to  wallow  in  the  dust— 
and  the  same  thing  shall  happen  unto  thee.*  * 
And  in  fact  Vaska  leaps  across  the  stone,  and 
would  have  got  clear  over  had  not  he  caught  his 
heel,  and  cracked  his  skull.  And  here  I  must 
remark,  by  the  way,  that  it  would  not  be  a  bad 
thing  if  my  friends,  the  Slavyanophils,  who  are 
great  hands  at  kicking  all  sorts  of  death's-heads 
and  rotten  folks,  would  ponder  over  this  epic 
song." 

"  But  what  is  your  object  in  saying  all  this? " 
—interrupted  Litvmoff  impatiently  at  last. — 
"  I  must  go,  excuse  me.  .  .  ." 

"  My  object  is," — replied  Potugin,  and  his 
eyes  beamed  with  a  friendly  feeling  which  Litvi- 
noff  had  never  expected  from  him,—"  to  keep 
you  from  repulsing  the  dead  human  skull;  and 
perchance,  in  return  for  your  goodness,  you  will 
succeed  in  leaping  across  the  fatal  stone.  I  will 
not  detain  you  any  longer,  only  you  must  permit 
me  to  embrace  you  in  farewell." 

"  I  shall  not  even  attempt  to  leap  across,"— 
said  Litvinoff ,  as  he  exchanged  the  threefold  kiss 
with  Potugin.  And  to  the  sorrowful  emotion, 

1  The  version  which  I  have  given,  "  Vasily  Buslaevitch,"  in  "  The 
Epic  Songs  of  Russia  "  (Charles  Scribner's  Sons),  is  from  a  slightly 
different  original  to  the  one  here  quoted.— TRANSLATOR. 

283 


SMOKE 

which  filled  his  soul  to  overflowing,  there  was 
added,  for  an  instant,  compassion  for  another 
poor  wretch.  But  he  must  go,  he  must  go.  .  . 
He  flung  himself  about  the  room. 

"  I  will  carry  something  for  you,  if  you  like." 
— Potiigin  offered  his  services. 

"No,  thanks,  don't  trouble  yourself;  I  will 
manage  alone.  .  .  ."  He  put  on  his  hat,  took  his 
bag  in  his  hand.—"  So  you  say,"— he  inquired, 
as  he  was  standing  on  the  threshold,—"  that  you 
have  seen  her?  " 

*  Yes,  I  have  seen  her." 

"  Well  .  .  and  what  of  her? " 

Potugin  made  no  answer  for  a  while.—"  She 
expected  you  last  night.  .  .  and  will  expect  you 
to-day." 

"Ah!  Well,  then  tell  her.  .  .  No,  it  is  not 
necessary,  nothing  is  necessary.  Farewell,  .  .  . 
Farewell!" 

"  Farewell,  Grigory  Mikhailitch.  .  .  .  Let  me 
say  one  word  more  to  you.  You  will  have  time 
to  hear  me  out :  the  train  does  not  leave  for  half 
an  hour  yet.  You  are  returning  to  Russia.  .  . 
You  will  ...  in  course  of  time  .  .  .  become  active 
there.  .  .  Permit  an  old  failure — for  I,  alas!  am  a 
failure,  and  nothing  else— to  give  you  a  parting 
bit  of  advice.  On  every  occasion,  when  you  are 
obliged  to  enter  upon  an  undertaking,  ask  your- 
self: are  you  serving  civilisation, — in  the  exact 
and  strict  sense  of  the  word,— are  you  furthering 

284 


SMOKE 

one  of  its  ideas ;  is  your  labour  of  that  pedagog- 
ical, European  character,  which  alone  is  profita- 
ble and  fruitful  in  our  day,  in  our  country?  If 
so — advance  boldly:  you  are  on  the  right  road, 
and  your  affair  is  an  honourable  one!  Glory  to 
God!  You  are  not  alone  now.  You  will  not  be 
*  a  sower  of  the  desert ' :  hard  workers  .... 
pioneers  .  .  .  have  already  sprung  up  among  us. 
.  .  But  you  do  not  care  to  hear  about  that  now.— 
Good-bye,  do  not  forget  me!" 

Litvinoff  descended  the  stairs  at  a  run,  flung 
himself  into  a  carriage,  and  drove  to  the  railway 
station,  without  casting  a  single  glance  at  the 
towrn  where  so  much  of  his  own  life  was  being 
left  behind.  .  .  He  seemed  to  be  yielding  to  a  bil- 
low: it  seized  him,  swept  him  onward,  and  he 
firmly  resolved  not  to  resist  its  impulse  ...  he  re- 
nounced every  other  manifestation  of  will. 

He  was  already  entering  the  railway  carriage. 

"  Grigory  Mikhailovitch  .  .  .  Grigory  .  .  ."  he 
heard  a  beseeching  whisper  behind  him.  He 
shuddered.  .  .  Could  it  be  Irina?  Exactly  that: 
it  was  she.  Wrapped  in  her  maid's  shawl,  with  a 
travelling  hat  on  her  unkempt  locks,  she  was 
standing  on  the  platform  and  gazing  at  him  with 
dimmed  eyes.  '*  Turn  back,  turn  back,  T  have 
come  for  thee ! "  said  those  eyes.  And  what, 
what  all,  did  not  they  promise!  She  did  not 
move;  she  had  not  the  strength  to  add  a  single 
word ;  everything  about  her,  even  the  disorder  of 

285 


SMOKE 

her  garments,  everything  seemed  to  be  entreating 
mercy.  .  .  . 

Litvinoff  could  hardly  stand  on  his  feet,  could 
hardly  refrain  from  rushing  to  her.  .  .  .  But  the 
wave  to  which  he  had  yielded  himself  asserted  its 
power.  .  .  He  sprang  into  the  carriage,  and, 
turning  round,  he  motioned  Irina  to  a  place 
beside  him.  She  understood  him.  The  time  was 
not  past.  Only  one  step,  one  movement,  and  two 
lives  forever  united  would  have  sped  forth  into 
the  unknown  distance.  .  .  While  she  hesitated  a 
loud  whistle  rang  out,  and  the  train  started. 

Litvmoff  flung  himself  back,  and  Irina 
walked  tottering  to  a  bench  and  sank  down  upon 
it,  to  the  extreme  amazement  of  an  ex-diplomat 
who  had  accidentally  wandered  into  the  station. 
He  was  only  slightly  acquainted  with  Irina,  but 
took  a  great  interest  in  her,  and  perceiving  that 
she  was  lying  as  though  unconscious,  he  thought 
that  she  had  had  "  une  attaque  de  nerfs"  and 
consequently  regarded  it  as  his  duty,  the  duty 
d'un  galant  chevalier,  to  go  to  her  assistance.  But 
his  amazement  assumed  far  greater  proportions 
when,  at  the  first  word  he  addressed  to  her,  she 
suddenly  rose,  repulsed  the  offered  arm,  and, 
rushing  forth  into  the  street,  in  a  few  moments 
vanished  in  the  milky  cloud  of  mist,  which  is 
so  characteristic  of  the  Black  Forest  climate  in 
the  early  days  of  autumn. 


286 


XXVI 

WE  once  chanced  to  enter  the  cottage  of  a  peas- 
ant woman  who  had  just  lost  her  only,  fervently- 
loved  son,  and  to  our  no  small  surprise,  we 
found  her  entirely  composed,  almost  cheerful. — 
"Let  her  alone!"  said  her  husband,  whom  this 
surprise  did  not  escape: — "she  is  hardened  just 
now."— In  the  same  way  Litvinoff  "was  har- 
dened." The  same  sort  of  composure  came  upon 
him  during  the  first  hours  of  his  journey.  Ut- 
terly annihilated,  and  hopelessly  unhappy,  he 
nevertheless  was  at  rest,  at  rest  after  the  tur- 
moils and  tortures  of  the  preceding  week,  after 
all  the  blows  which,  one  after  the  other,  had 
descended  upon  his  head.  They  had  shaken  him 
all  the  more  violently  because  he  was  not  created 
for  such  tempests.  He  no  longer  had  any  hope 
of  anything  now,  and  tried  not  to  remember — 
most  of  all,  not  to  remember.  He  was  going  to 
Russia  ...  he  must  take  refuge  somewhere!  but 
he  no  longer  made  any  plans  which  personally 
concerned  himself.  He  did  not  recognise  him- 
self; he  did  not  understand  his  proceedings;  it 
was  exactly  as  though  he  had  lost  his  real  "  I," 
and,  altogether,  he  felt  very  little  interest  in 
that  "I."  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  as  though 

287 


SMOKE 

he  were  carrying  his  own  corpse,  and  only  the 
bitter  convulsions  of  an  incurable  spiritual  mal- 
ady, which  ran  through  him  now  and  then, 
reminded  him  that  he  was  still  endowed  with  life. 
At  times  it  seemed  incomprehensible  to  him  how 
a  man— a  man!— could  permit  a  woman,  love, 

....  to  exercise  such  influence  over  him 

"A  shameful  weakness!"  he  whispered,  and 
shook  out  his  cloak,  and  settled  himself  more 
squarely  in  his  seat,  as  much  as  to  say,  There 
now,  old  things  are  done  with,  let  us  start  on 
something  new  ....  A  minute  later,  and  he 
merely  smiled  bitterly  and  felt  amazed  at  him- 
self. He  took  to  gazing  out  of  the  window. 
The  day  was  grey  and  damp ;  there  was  no  rain, 
but  the  fog  held  on,  and  low-lying  clouds  veiled 
the  sky.  The  wind  was  blowing  in  the  contrary 
direction  to  the  course  of  the  train;  whitish 
clouds  of  steam,  now  alone,  now  mingled  with 
other,  darker  clouds  of  smoke,  swept,  in  an  end- 
less series,  past  the  window  beside  which 
Litvinoff  sat.  He  began  to  watch  the  steam, 
the  smoke.  Incessantly  whirling,  rising  and 
falling,  twisting  and  catching  at  the  grass,  at 
the  bushes,  playing  pranks,  as  it  were,  lengthen- 
ing and  melting,  puff  followed  puff  ....  they 
were  constantly  changing,  and  yet  remained  the 
same  ....  a  monotonous,  hurried,  tiresome  game ! 
Sometimes  the  wind  changed,  the  road  made  a 
turn — the  whole  mass  suddenly  disappeared, 

288 


SMOKE 

and  immediately  became  visible  through  the  op- 
posite window;  then,  once  more,  the  huge  trail 
flung  itself  over,  and  once  more  veiled  from 
LitvinofF  the  wide  view  of  the  Rhine  Valley.  He 
gazed  and  gazed,  and  a  strange  reflection  oc- 
curred to  him.  .  .  He  was  alone  in  the  carriage ; 
there  was  no  one  to  interfere  with  him.— 
"  Smoke,  smoke,"— he  repeated  several  times  in 
succession;  and  suddenly  everything  appeared 
to  him  to  be  smoke— everything,  his  own  life, 
everything  pertaining  to  men,  especially  every- 
thing Russian.  Everything  is  smoke  and  steam, 
—he  thought;— everything  seems  to  be  con- 
stantly undergoing  change ;  everywhere  there  are 
new  forms,  phenomenon  follows  phenomenon, 
but  in  reality  everything  is  exactly  alike;  every- 
thing is  hurrying,  hastening  somewhither — and 
everything  vanishes  without  leaving  a  trace,  with- 
out having  attained  to  any  end  whatever ;  another 
breeze  has  begun  to  blow— and  everything  has 
been  flung  to  the  other  side,  and  there,  again,  is 
the  same  incessant,  agitated— and  useless  game. 
He  recalled  many  things  which  had  taken  place, 
with  much  sound  and  clatter,  before  his  eyes 
during  the  last  few  years  .  .  .  .  smoke,"— he 
murmured,— "  smoke  ";  he  recalled  the  heated 
disputes,  shovings  and  shouts  at  Gubaryoff's,  and 
at  the  houses  of  other  persons,  of  high  and  of 
low  degree,  of  prominent  people,  and  of  people 
who  had  lagged  behind,  of  old  people  and  of 

289 


SMOKE 

young  ..."  smoke  "—he  repeated,—"  smoke 
and  steam  " ;  he  recalled,  in  conclusion,  the  fa- 
mous picnic  also;  and  other  judgments  and 
speeches  of  other  statesmen  also  recurred  to  his 
mind — and  even  everything  which  Potugin  had 
preached  .  .  .  .  "  smoke,  smoke,  and  nothing 
more."  But  his  own  aspirations  and  feelings  and 
efforts  and  dreams?  He  merely  waved  his  hand 
in  renunciation  of  them. 

And  in  the  meantime  the  train  was  dashing  on, 
dashing  on  Rastadt,  Karlsruhe  and  Bruchsal  had 
long  since  been  left  behind;  the  mountains  on 
the  right  side  of  the  road  were  retreating,  re- 
ceding into  the  distance,  then  advanced  again, 
but  were  not  so  lofty  now,  and  were  more 
sparsely  covered  with  forests.  .  .  The  train  made 
a  sharp  turn  to  one  side— and  behold,  there  was 
Heidelberg.  The  railway  carriages  rolled  up 
under  the  shed  of  the  station;  the  cries  of  ped- 
lars, selling  every  sort  of  thing,  even  Russian 
newspapers,  resounded;  the  travellers  fidgeted 
in  their  seats,  emerged  on  the  platform.  But 
LitvinofF  did  not  leave  his  corner,  and  continued 
to  sit  with  bowed  head.  Suddenly  some  one 
called  him  by  name;  he  raised  his  eyes;  Binda- 
soff's  ugly  face  thrust  itself  through  the  win- 
dow, and  behind  him— or  did  it  only  seem  so  to 
him?— no,  it  was  a  fact:  they  were  all  faces  from 
Baden,  familiar  faces:  there  was  Madame 
Sukhantchikoff,  there  was  Voroshiloff,  and 

290 


SMOKE 

there   was   Bambaeff,    all   of   them    advancing 
toward  him— and  Bindasoff  was  roaring: 

"  And  where  is  Pishtchalkin  ?  We  have  been 
waiting  for  him;  but  never  mind,  crawl  out, 
soaker,  we  're  all  going  to  Gubaryoff  's." 

'  Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  and  besides,  Gubaryoff 
is  waiting  for  us,"  Bambaeff  confirmed  his  state- 
ment, as  he  stepped  forward:—"  get  out." 

Litvinoff  would  have  flown  into  a  rage  had 
it  not  been  for  that  dead  weight  which  lay  upon 
his  heart.  He  glanced  at  Bindasoff,  and  turned 
silently  away. 

"  I  tell  you,  Gubaryoff  is  here,"— cried 
Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  her  eyes  almost  start- 
ing from  their  sockets. 

Litvinoff  did  not  stir. 

'  Yes,  listen,  Litvinoff,"  began  Bambaeff,  at 
last.  "  Not  only  is  Gubaryoff  here,  but  there  is 
a  whole  phalanx  of  the  most  splendid,  the  clev- 
erest young  men,  Russians,— and  all  are  devot- 
ing themselves  to  the  natural  sciences,  all  cherish 
the  most  noble  convictions!  Do  stop,  on  their 
account,  for  goodness'  sake.  Here,  for  example, 
is  a  certain  .  .  .  ekh!  I  Ve  forgotten  his  name! 
but  he  's  simply  a  genius !  " 

"  Come,  let  him  alone,  let  him  alone,  Rostis- 
laff  Ardalionitch !  " — interposed  Madame  Su- 
khantchikoff,— "  let  him  alone!  you  see  what  sort 
of  a  man  he  is;  and  all  his  tribe  are  of  the  same 
sort.  He  has  an  aunt :  at  first  I  thought  her  a  sen- 

291 


SMOKE 

sible  woman,  but  day  before  yesterday  I  travelled 
hither  in  her  company— she  had  only  just  arrived 
in  Baden,  and  lo  and  behold!  back  she  flies,— well, 
sir,  I  travelled  with  her,  and  I  began  to  question 
her.  .  .  If  you  will  believe  me,  not  one  word 
could  I  get  out  of  the  haughty  creature.  The 
disgusting  aristocrat!" 

Poor  Kapitolina  Markovna— an  aristocrat! 
Did  she  ever  expect  such  a  disgrace? 

But  Litvinoif  still  held  his  peace,  and  turned 
away,  and  pulled  his  cap  down  over  his  eyes.  At 
last  the  train  started. 

"  Come,  say  something  by  way  of  farewell, 
you  man  of  stone!  "—shouted  Bambaeff. 

"  You  can't  go  off  like  this!  " 

'Trash!  simpleton!  "—roared  out  Bindasoff. 
The  carriages  rolled  more  and  more  rapidly,  and 
he  could  revile  with  impunity.—"  Miser!  Mol- 
lusc! Drunken  bummer! " 

Whether  Bindasoff  invented  this  last  epithet 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  or  whether  it  had 
reached  him  from  other  hands,  at  all  events  it 
evidently  afforded  great  pleasure  to  the  ex- 
tremely noble  young  men  who  were  studying  the 
natural  sciences,  for  a  few  days  later  it  made  its 
appearance  in  the  Russian  periodical  sheet,  which 
was  published  at  that  time  in  Heidelberg,  under 
the  title:  A  tout  venant  je  crache!  or  "  If  God 
does  n't  desert  you,  the  pigs  won't  eat  you."  l  2 

1  "Him  whom  God  helps,  nobody  can  harm." — TRANSLATOR. 
2  An  historical  fact. 

292 


SMOKE 

But  Litvinoff  kept  repeating  his  former  word : 
smoke,  smoke,  smoke!  Here  now,  he  thought, 
there  are  now  more  than  a  hundred  Russian 
students  in  Heidelberg;  all  are  studying  chemis- 
try, physics,  physiology— they  will  not  even 
listen  to  anything  else  .  .  .  but  let  five  or  six 
years  elapse,  and  there  will  not  be  fifteen  men 
in  the  courses  of  those  same  celebrated  profes- 
sors .  .  .  the  wind  will  change,  the  smoke  will 
rush  to  the  other  side  .  .  .  smoke  .  .  .  smoke 
.  .  .  smoke !  * 

Toward  nightfall  he  passed  Kassel.  To- 
gether with  the  twilight,  an  intolerable  anguish 
descended  like  a  vulture  upon  him,  and,  nestling 
in  the  corner  of  the  railway  carriage,  he  began 
to  weep.  For  a  long  time  his  tears  flowed  with- 
out relieving  his  heart,  but  torturing  him  in  a 
caustic,  bitter  way ;  and,  at  that  same  time,  in  one 
of  the  hostelries  of  Kassel,  on  her  bed,  in  a  burn- 
ing fever,  lay  Tatyana;  Kapitolina  Markovna 
sat  beside  her. 

'  Tanya,"— she  said, — "  for  God's  sake,  allow 
me  to  send  a  telegram  to  Grigory  Mikhailovitch ; 
do  let  me,  Tanya !  " 

"  No,  aunty,"— she  answered,—"  it  is  not  nec- 
essary ;  do  not  feel  alarmed.  Give  me  some  water ; 
this  will  soon  pass  off." 

And,  in  fact,  a  week  later  her  health  mended, 
and  the  two  friends  resumed  their  journey. 

1  LitvinofFs  presentiment  was  fulfilled.  In  1866,  there  were  thir- 
teen Russian  students  in  the  summer  term,  and  twelve  in  the  winter 
term,  at  Heidelberg. 


XXVII 

WITHOUT  halting  either  in  Petersburg  or  in 
Moscow,  Litvinoff  returned  to  his  estate.  He  was 
frightened  when  he  saw  his  father,  so  greatly 
enfeebled  and  aged  had  the  latter  become.  The 
old  man  rejoiced  at  the  sight  of  his  son,  as  much 
as  a  man  can  rejoice  whose  life  is  drawing  to  a 
close;  he  immediately  transferred  to  him  all  his 
affairs,  which  were  in  great  confusion,  and  after 
creaking  on  a  few  weeks  longer,  departed  from 
the  arena  of  earth.  Litvinoff  was  left  alone  in 
his  ancient  wing  of  the  manor-house,  and  with  a 
heavy  heart,  without  hope,  without  zeal  and 
without  money,  he  began  to  farm  the  estate. 
Farming  an  estate  in  Russia  is  a  cheerless  affair, 
only  too  well  known  to  many  persons ;  we  will  not 
enlarge  on  the  point  of  how  bitter  it  seemed  to 
Litvinoff.  As  a  matter  of  course,  there  could  be 
no  question  of  reforms  and  innovations;  the  ap- 
plication of  the  knowledge  which  he  had  acquired 
abroad  was  deferred  for  an  indefinite  period; 
want  compelled  him  to  worry  on  from  day  to  day, 
to  consent  to  all  sorts  of  compromises,— both  ma- 
terial and  moral.  New  ideas  won  their  way 
badly,  old  ones  had  lost  their  force;  the  ignorant 
clashed  with  the  dishonest;  his  whole  deranged 


SMOKE 

existence  was  in  constant  motion,  like  a  quaking 
bog,  and  only  the  great  word  "  liberty  "  moved, 
like  the  spirit  of  God,  over  the  waters.  Patience 
was  required,  first  of  all,  and  not  passive  but 
active,  persistent  patience,  not  devoid,  at  times, 
of  tact,  not  devoid  of  guile  ....  which  Litvinoff, 
in  his  actual  spiritual  state,  found  doubly  diffi- 
cult. He  had  very  little  desire  left  to  live.  .  . 
Whence  could  he  summon  a  desire  to  bestir  him- 
self and  work? 

But  a  year  passed,  then  a  second,  the  third  was 
beginning.  The  grand  thought  was  gradually 
being  realised,  was  being  transformed  into  flesh 
and  blood:  a  sprout  was  putting  forth  from  the 
seed  that  had  been  sown;  and  its  enemies,  either 
open  or  secret,  could  no  longer  trample  it  under 
foot.  Litvinoff  himself,  although  he  had  ended 
by  giving  up  the  greater  part  of  his  land  to  the 
peasants,  on  the  rotation-of -crops  system,  that 
is  to  say,  had  returned  to  the  wretched,  primi- 
tive methods  of  farming,  yet  had  some  suc- 
cess: he  re-established  the  factory,  set  up  a  tiny 
farm  with  five  hired  labourers,— he  had  as  many 
as  forty,  at  different  times,— paid  off  the  prin- 
cipal part  of  the  debts.  .  .  And  his  spirit  grew 
firm  within  him;  again  he  began  to  resemble  the 
Litvinoff  of  former  days.  The  painful,  deeply- 
concealed  feeling,  it  is  true,  never  left  him,  and 
he  had  grown  sedate  beyond  his  years,  had 
shut  himself  up  in  his  narrow  circle,  had  broken 

295 


SMOKE 

off  all  his  previous  connections  ....  but  the 
deathlike  indifference  had  vanished,  and  again  he 
moved  about  among  the  living,  and  behaved  like 
a  living  man.  The  last  traces  of  the  witchery 
which  had  taken  possession  of  him  had  vanished 
also :  everything  which  had  taken  place  at  Baden 
presented  itself  to  him  as  in  a  dream.  .  And 
Irina?  She,  also,  had  paled  and  disappeared, 
and  it  was  only  in  a  confused  way  that  Litvinoff 
was  conscious  of  something  terrible  beneath  the 
mist  in  which  her  image  had  gradually  become 
enveloped.  News  of  Tatyana  reached  him  from 
time  to  time ;  he  knew  that  she  and  her  aunt  had 
settled  on  her  little  estate,  about  two  hundred 
versts  from  him,  were  living  quietly  and  receiv- 
ing hardly  any  guests,— and,  for  the  rest,  were 
composed  and  well. — But  one  day,  one  beautiful 
May  day,  he  was  sitting  in  his  study,  and  in- 
differently turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  last 
number  of  a  Petersburg  journal:  a  servant 
entered  and  announced  the  arrival  of  his  aged 
uncle.  This  uncle  was  the  first  cousin  of  Kapi- 
tolina  Markovna,  and  had  recently  visited  her. 
He  had  purchased  an  estate  in  Litvfnoff's 
neighbourhood,  and  was  on  his  way  thither.  He 
spent  a  whole  day  with  his  nephew,  and  told  him 
a  great  deal  about  Tatyana's  manner  of  life.  On 
the  day  after  his  departure,  Litvinoff  sent  her  a 
letter,  the  first  since  their  parting.  He  requested 
permission  to  renew  the  acquaintance,  by  letter 

296 


SMOKE 

at  least,  and  also  desired  to  know  whether  he 
must  forever  abandon  the  thought  of  seeing  her 
some  day?  Not  without  agitation  did  he  await 
the  reply  . .  .  and  a  reply  arrived  at  last.  Tatyana 
made  a  friendly  response  to  his  question.  "  If 
you  should  take  a  fancy  to  visit  us,"  she  said  in 
conclusion,  "  come,  we  shall  be  glad  to  see  you: 
they  say  that  weak  people  feel  more  comfortable 
together  than  apart."  Kapitolina  Markovna 
sent  her  compliments.  Litvinoff  was  as  happy 
as  a  child ;  his  heart  had  not  beaten  so  cheerfully 
for  a  long  time.  And  he  suddenly  felt  relieved 
and  bright.  .  .  Exactly  as  when  the  sun  rises  and 
drives  away  the  shades  of  night,  a  light  zephyr 
flits  with  the  sun's  rays  over  the  face  of  the 
reviving  earth.  All  that  day  Litvinoff  did  noth- 
ing but  smile,  even  when  he  made  the  rounds  of 
his  farm  and  issued  his  orders.  He  immediately 
began  to  make  preparations  for  the  journey, 
and  two  weeks  later  he  set  off  to  Tatyana. 


297 


XXVIII 

HE  travelled  rather  slowly  along  the  country 
roads,  without  any  particular  adventures:  only 
once  the  tire  on  one  of  the  hind  wheels  broke;  a 
blacksmith  welded  and  welded  it,  cursed  it  and 
himself,  and  then  threw  up  the  job;  luckily,  it 
turned  out  that  one  can  travel  very  well  indeed 
in  our  country  even  with  a  broken  tire,  especially 
on  a  "  soft  "  road,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  mud.  On 
the  other  hand,  LitvinofF  had  two  or  three  de- 
cidedly curious  encounters.  At  one  posting- 
station  he  found  a  meeting  of  justices  of  the 
peace,  and  among  their  number,  Pishtchalkin, 
who  produced  upon  him  the  impression  of  being 
a  Solon  or  a  Solomon:  such  lofty  wisdom  did  his 
speech  breathe  forth,  with  such  unbounded  re- 
spect did  both  landed  proprietors  and  peasants 
bear  themselves  toward  him :  .  .  .  and  in  his  ap- 
pearance, also,  Pishtchalkin  had  begun  to  resem- 
ble a  sage  of  olden  days:  his  hair  had  receded 
from  his  temples,  and  his  face,  which  had  grown 
fuller,  had  become  completely  petrified  into  a  sort 
of  majestic  jelly  of  virtue  unhampered  by  any- 
thing whatsoever.  He  congratulated  Litvinoff  on 
his  arrival  "  in  my  own  district— if  I  may  make 
so  bold  as  to  use  so  ambitious  an  expression," — 

298 


SMOKE 

and  thereupon,  instantly  sank  into  a  paroxysm  of 
well-intentioned  emotions.  But  he  did  succeed 
in  imparting  one  piece  of  news,  namely,  con- 
cerning Voroshiloff.  That  paladin  of  the  gilded 
classes  had  again  entered  the  military  service, 
and  had  already  managed  to  deliver  a  lecture  to 
the  officers  of  his  regiment  on  "  Buddhism,"  or 

"  dynamism,"  or  something  of  that  sort 

Pishtchalkin  could  not  remember  exactly  what. 
At  the  next  posting-station  they  did  not  harness 
LitvinofF's  horses  for  a  long  time;  the  affair 
happened  at  daybreak, — and  he  was  dozing  as 
he  sat  in  his  calash.  A  voice  which  struck  him 
as  familiar  awakened  him :  he  opened  his  eyes.  .  . 

Heavens!  was  it  not  Mr.  Gubaryoff  who  was 
standing  there  in  a  grey  round  jacket  and  flap- 
ping sleeping-trousers,  and  swearing,  on  the 
porch  of  the  posting-cottage?  .  .  .  No,  it  was  not 
Mr.  Gubaryoff.  .  .  But  what  a  startling  resem- 
blance !  .  .  .  .  Only,  this  gentleman's  mouth  was 
wider  and  fuller  of  teeth,  and  the  gaze  of  his 
dismal  eyes  was  still  fiercer,  his  nose  was  bigger, 
and  his  beard  thicker,  and  his  whole  aspect  was 
heavier  and  more  repulsive. 

"The  sca-aoundrels,  the  sca-aoundrels  I  "— he 
was  repeating,  slowly  and  viciously  stretching 
his  wolfish  mouth  very  wide:— "the  damned 

peasantry.  .  .  .  Here  you  see  it this 

lauded  liberty  ....  and  you  can't  get  any 
horses  .  .  .  the  sca-aoundrels!" 

299 


SMOKE 

'The  sca-aoundrels,  the  sca-aoundrels  1 " — 
another  voice  here  made  itself  heard  inside  the 
house,  and  on  the  porch  there  presented  himself, 
—also  in  a  grey  round  jacket  and  flapping  sleep- 
ing-trousers,—presented  himself,  this  time  actu- 
ally and  indubitably,  the  genuine  Mr.  Guba- 
ryoff himself,  Stepan  Nikolaevitch  Gubaryoff. 
"The  damned  peasantry!  "—he  continued,  in 
imitation  of  his  brother  (it  appeared  that  the 
first  gentleman  was  his  elder  brother,  the 
"  Danteist  "  l  of  the  old  school,  who  managed  his 
estate.)  — "  They  ought  to  be  flogged,  that 's  what 
they  ought ;  flogged  on  their  snouts,  that 's  the 
sort  of  liberty  they  need — flogged  on  their  teeth. 

.  .  They  talk  about  .  .  .  forsooth, about  the 

mayor  of  the  district!  ...  I  '11  give  it  to  them! 
.  .  .  Yes,  and  where  's  that  M'sieu'  Roston?  .  .  . 
What  does  he  superintend?  ...  It 's  his  busi- 
ness, the  cursed  sluggard  .  .  .  not  to  reduce  one 
to  anxiety " 

"  But  I  have  repeatedly  told  you,  brother,"  - 
put  in  the  elder  Gubaryoff, — "  that  he  was 
not  fit  for  anything,  a  regular  sluggard!  Only 
you,  for  old  acquaintance'  sake.  .  .  .  M'sieu' 
Roston,  M'sieu'  Roston!  ....  What  has  be- 
come of  you? " 

"Roston!  Roston  I  "—shouted  the  younger, 
the  great  Gubaryoff.— "  Come,  brother  Dore- 
medont  Nikolaitch,  call  him  well!  " 

*  A  term  applied  to  cruel  serf-owners. — TRANSLATOR 

300 


SMOKE 

'  That 's  precisely  what  I  am  doing,  brother 
Stepan  Nikolaitch.— Monsieur  Roston!" 

"  Here  I  am,  here  I  am,  here  I  am!  "—a 
precipitate  voice  made  itself  heard,  and  from 
round  the  corner  of  the  cottage  sprang  forth — 
BambaefF. 

Litvinoff  fairly  cried  aloud  in  amazement.  On 
the  ill-starred  enthusiast  mournfully  dangled  a 
hussar  jacket  abbreviated  by  wear,  with  rents  in 
the  sleeves ;  his  features  were  not  so  much  altered 
as  pinched  and  wizened;  his  extremely  uneasy 
little  eyes  expressed  slavish  terror  and  hungry 
subserviency ;  but  his  dyed  moustache  bristled  up 
above  his  full  lips  as  of  old.  The  Gubaryoff 
brothers  set  to  work  instantly  and  simultaneously 
to  berate  him  from  the  elevation  of  the  porch; 
he  halted  in  front  of  them,  below,  in  the  mud, 
and,  with  his  back  meekly  bowed,  endeavoured 
to  placate  them  with  a  timid  smile,  crumpling 
his  cap  in  his  red  fingers,  shifting  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  and  muttering  that  the  horses 
would  make  their  appearance  immediately.  .  . 
But  the  brothers  did  not  cease,  until  the  younger, 
at  last,  let  his  eyes  fall  on  Litvinoff.  Whether 
he  recognised  him,  whether  he  felt  ashamed  in 
the  presence  of  a  stranger,  at  all  events,  he  sud- 
denly turned  on  his  heel,  in  bear-like  fashion, 
and,  gnawing  his  beard,  hobbled  into  the  posting- 
cottage;  his  brother  instantly  became  mute,  and 
turning  round,  in  bear-like  fashion  also,  followed 

301 


SMOKE 

in  his  footsteps.  The  great  Gubaryoff,  evi- 
dently, had  not  lost  his  influence  in  his  own  coun- 
try either. 

Bambaeff  was  on  the  point  of  following 
softly  after  the  brothers.  .  .  Litvinoff  called  him 
by  name.  He  glanced  round,  took  another  look, 
and,  recognising  Litvinoff,  fairly  precipitated 
himself  at  him,  with  outstretched  arms ;  but  when 
he  had  rushed  up  to  the  carriage,  and  grasped 
the  door,  he  fell  against  it  with  his  breast  and 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  Stop,  do  stop,  Bambaeff," — Litvinoff  said 
again  and  again,  bending  over  him  and  touching 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

But  he  continued  to  sob.—"  This  ....  this  .... 
this  is  what  I  have  come  to  ..."  he  murmured, 
sobbing. 

"Bambaeff!" — thundered  the  brothers  inside 
the  cottage. 

Bambaeff  raised  his  head  and  hastily  wiped 
away  his  tears. 

"  Good  morning,  my  dear  fellow,"— he  whis- 
pered,—" good  morning  and  good-bye!  .... 
you  hear,  they  are  calling  me." 

"  But  how  in  the  world  do  you  come  to  be 
here?  "—inquired  Litvinoff: — "and  what  is  the 
meaning  of  all  this?  I  thought  they  called  you 
a  Frenchman.  .  ." 

"  I  am  their  .  .  .  their  house-steward,  their 
butler,"— replied  Bambaeff,  and  jerked  his 

302 


SMOKE 

linger  in  the  direction  of  the  cottage.—"  And  I 
came  to  be  a  Frenchman  by  chance,  by  way  of  a 
jest.  What  can  a  man  do,  brother?  When  there 
is  nothing  to  eat,  you  see,  and  you  have  spent 
your  last  penny,  you  put  your  neck  into  the 
nooge,  willy-nilly.  You  don't  feel  like  being  am- 
bitious." 

"  But  has  he  been  long  in  Russia?  And  how 
did  he  part  from  his  former  comrades?" 

"Ekh,  brother!  All  that  is  over  now.  .  .  The 
weather  has  changed,  you  know.  .  .  .  He  simply 
pitched  Madame  Sukhantchikoff,  Matryona 
Kuzmmitchna,  out,  neck  and  crop.  She  went  off 
to  Portugal,  out  of  grief." 

"  Went  to  Portugal?  What  nonsense  is 
this?" 

'  Yes,  brother,  to  Portugal,  with  two  Matryo- 
novtzys." 

"With  whom?" 

'With  the  Matryonovtzys :  that's  what  the 
adherents  of  her  faction  are  called." 

"  Has  Matryona  Kuzmmitchna  a  faction,  and 
is  it  numerous?  " 

'  Why,  it  consists  of  just  those  two  men.  But 
lie  returned  here  nearly  six  months  ago.  Then 
others  got  into  trouble,  but  ke  's  all  right.  He 
lives  in  the  country  with  his  brother,  and  you 
just  ought  to  hear  now  .  .  .  ." 

"Bambaeff!" 

"  Immediately,  Stepan  Nikolaitch,  immedi- 
303 


SMOKE 

ately.  But  thou,  my  dear  fellow,  art  blooming, 
thou  art  enjoying  thyself!  Well,  God  be 
thanked!  Where  art  thou  bound  for  now?— 
Why,  I  never  thought,  I  never  foresaw  that.  .  .  . 
Dost  thou  remember  Baden?  Ekh,  that  was 
living!  By  the  way,  dost  thou  remember  Binda- 
soff  also?  Just  imagine,  he  is  dead.  He  ob- 
tained a  position  in  the  excise  office,  and  got  into 
a  fight  in  a  dram-shop;  and  they  smashed  his 
skull  with  a  billiard-cue.  Yes,  yes,  hard  times 
have  come  upon  us!  But  I  still  say:  Russia, 
what  a  land  this  Russia  is!  Look  even  at  that 
pair  of  geese:  surely,  in  all  Europe,  there  is 
nothing  like  them !  Real  Arzamas  fowls !  " 

And  after  paying  this  parting  tribute  to  his 
ineradicable  necessity  to  go  into  raptures,  Bam- 
baeff  ran  into  the  station-cottage,  where  his  name 
was  again  being  uttered,  not  without  a  few  em- 
phatic epithets. 

Toward  the  end  of  that  day,  Litvinoff  drove 
up  to  Tatyana's  village.  The  little  house,  where- 
in dwelt  his  former  betrothed,  stood  on  a  hill, 
above  a  small  river,  in  the  centre  of  a  garden 
which  had  been  newly  laid  out.  The  little  house 
was  new  also,  only  just  built,  and  was  visible 
from  afar,  across  river  and  meadow.  It  revealed 
itself  to  Litvinoff  at  a  distance  of  two  versts 
with  its  pointed  partial  upper  story  and  row 
of  windows,  which  gleamed  brightly  in  the  rays 
of  the  evening  sun.  From  the  time  he  quitted  the 

804 


SMOKE 

last  station,  he  had  begun  to  experience  a  secret 
agitation;  but  at  this  point  downright  consterna- 
tion seized  upon  him,  joyous  consternation,  not 
unmingled  with  a  certain  alarm.  "  How  will  they 
receive  me?  " — he  thought,—"  how  shall  I  pre- 
sent myself?  "...  In  order  to  divert  his  thoughts 
somewhat  he  began  to  chat  with  the  postilion,  a 
peasant  of  the  steppes,  with  a  grey  beard,  but 
who  had  charged  him  for  thirty  versts,  when,  in 
reality,  the  distance  was  not  twenty-five.  He 
asked  him :  Did  he  know  the  Shestoff  ladies  ? 

'  The  Shestoffs,  do  you  mean?  Of  course  I 
know  them !  Kind  ladies  they  are,  there  's  no 
denying  that!  And  they  heal  us  poor  folks  too. 
I  'm  telling  you  the  truth.  Regular  women  doc- 
tors! Folks  go  to  them  from  the  whole  county. 
That 's  so.  They  just  crawl  there  in  hordes.  No 
sooner  does  any  one  fall  ill,  or  cut  himself,  or 
anything  else,  than  he  immediately  hastens  to 
them,  and  they  immediately  apply  a  fomenta- 
tion, or  powders,  or  a  plaster,— and  that 's  the  end 
of  it:  it  helps.  But  don't  dare  to  offer  gifts  of 
gratitude;  we  don't  consent  to  that,  say  they;  we 
don't  do  it  for  money.  They  Ve  set  up  a  school, 
too.  .  .  .  Well,  but  that  does  n't  amount  to  any- 
thing." 

While  the  postilion  was  talking,  LitvinofF 
never  took  his  eyes  from  the  little  house.  .  .  Now 
a  woman  in  white  came  out  on  the  balcony,  stood, 
and  stood,  and  then  vanished.  ..."  Can  it  be 

305 


SMOKE 

she?  "  His  heart  fairly  leapt  within  him.  "  Fas- 
ter! Faster!"  he  shouted  to  the  postilion:  the 
latter  whipped  up  his  horses.  A  few  moments 
more  .  .  .  and  the  calash  rolled  in  through  the 
open  gates.  .  .  And  on  the  porch  Kapitolina 
Markovna  was  already  standing,  and,  quite  be- 
side herself,  was  clapping  her  hands  and  scream- 
ing: "  I  recognised  him,  I  was  the  first  to  recog- 
nise him!  'T  is  he!  't  is  he!— I  recognised 
him!" 

Litvinoif  sprang  out  of  the  calash,  without 
giving  the  groom  who  came  running  up  a  chance 
to  open  the  door,  and  hastily  embracing  Kapito- 
lina Markovna,  rushed  into  the  house,  through 
the  ante-room,  into  the  salon.  .  .  .  Before  him, 
all  covered  with  confusion,  stood  Tatyana.  She 
glanced  at  him  with  her  kind,  aff ectionate  eyes 
(she  had  grown  a  little  thinner,  but  it  became 
her),  and  offered  him  her  hand.  But  he  did  not 
take  the  hand,  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  her. 
She  had  not  in  the  least  expected  this,  and  did 
not  know  what  to  say,  what  to  do.— The  tears 
rushed  to  her  eyes.  She  was  startled,  but  her 
whole  countenance  beamed  with  joy.  ..."  Gri- 
gory  Mikhailitch,  what  is  this,  Grigory  Mikhai- 
litch?"  she  said  .  .  .  but  he  continued  to  kiss 
the  hem  of  her  garment  .  .  .  and  with  emotion  he 
recalled  how  he  had  lain  on  his  knees  before  her, 

in  the  same  manner,  at  Baden But  then 

—and  now! 

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SMOKE 

'  Tanya,"— he  repeated,  over  and  over  again, 
'Tanya!  hast  thou  forgiven  me,  Tanya?" 
"  Aunty,    aunty,    what    is    this? "— Tatyana 

appealed  to  Kapitolina  Markovna,  who  entered 

at  the  moment. 

"  Do   not   hinder   him,   do   not   hinder  him, 

Tanya,"— replied  the  kind  old  woman.—"  Thou 

seest  he  has  confessed  his  wrong." 

But  it  is  time  to  make  an  ending;  and  besides, 
there  is  nothing  more  to  add;  the  reader  will 
divine  the  outcome  for  himself.  .  .  .  But  what 
of  Irina? 

She  is  just  as  charming  as  ever,  in  spite  of 
her  thirty  years.  Innumerable  young  men  fall  in 
love  with  her,  and  even  more  would  fall  in  love 
with  her,  if  ....  if  ....  Reader,  will  not  you 
consent  to  be  transported  with  us,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, to  Petersburg,  to  one  of  the  most  promi- 
nent buildings  there?  Behold:  before  you  lies 
a  spacious  room,  furnished,  we  will  not  say 
"  richly,"— that  is  too  vulgar  an  expression,— but 
imposingly,  in  a  stately,  impressive  style.  Do 
you  feel  a  certain  tremor  of  servility?  You  must 
know:  you  have  entered  a  temple,  a  temple  con- 
secrated to  the  loftiest  decorum,  to  virtue  over- 
flowing with  love— in  a  word,  to  unearthly  virtue. 
A  certain  mysterious,  actually  mysterious  silence 
receives  you  into  its  embrace.  The  velvet  por- 
tieres, the  velvet  curtains  at  the  windows,  the  soft, 

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thick  carpet  on  the  floor,  all  seem  destined  and 
designed  to  soothe  and  soften  all  harsh  sounds 
and  violent  emotions.  Carefully-shaded  lamps 
inspire  dignified  feelings;  a  decorous  perfume 
is  disseminated  in  the  close  atmosphere;  the  very 
samovar  on  the  table  is  hissing  in  a  repressed  and 
modest  way.  The  mistress  of  the  house,  an  im- 
portant personage  in  Petersburg  society,  is  talk- 
ing in  a  barely  audible  tone;  she  always  speaks 
in  that  way,  as  though  there  were  a  very  critically 
ill,  almost  dying  person  in  the  room.  The  other 
ladies,  in  imitation  of  her,  barely  whisper;  but 
to-day,  her  sister,  who  is  pouring  tea,  is  moving 
her  lips  with  entire  absence  of  sound,  so  that  the 
young  man  who  is  sitting  before  her,  and  has 
accidentally  got  into  the  temple  of  decorum,  is 
even  perplexed  to  know  what  she  wants  of  him, 
and  she  rustles  at  him,  for  the  sixth  time: 
re  Voulez  vous  une  tasse  de  the?  "  In  the  corner, 
young,  good-looking  men  are  to  be  seen;  mild 
deference  beams  in  their  glances;  tranquilly 
mild,  although  insinuating,  is  the  expression  of 
their  faces;  a  multitude  of  tokens  of  distinction 
glitter  mildly  on  their  breasts.  The  conversation 
which  is  in  progress  is  mild  also;  it  touches  upon 
spiritual  and  patriotic  subjects,  The  Mysterious 
Drop  by  F.  M.  Glinka,  the  mission  to  the  East, 
the  monasteries  and  brotherhoods  of  White  Rus- 
sia. From  time  to  time,  treading  noiselessly 
over  the  soft  carpet,  liveried  lackeys  pass  to  and 

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fro;  their  huge  calves,  clothed  in  tightly-fitting 
silk  stockings,  quiver  calmly  at  every  step;  the 
respectful  quiver  of  their  stout  muscles  only  in- 
tensifies the  general  impression  of  magnificence, 
benevolence,  devoutness.  .  .  It  is  a  temple !  It  is 
a  temple! 

"  Have  you  seen  Madame  Ratmiroff  to-day?  " 
—asks  a  personage  gently. 

"  I  met  her  to-day  at  Lise's,"  replies  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  like  an  seolian  harp:—"  I  feel 
sorry  for  her.  .  .  She  has  an  embittered  mind 
....  elle  n'a  pas  la  foi" 

'Yes,  yes," — repeats  the  personage;—"! 
remember  that  Peter  Ivanitch  said  that  of  her, 
and  it  was  very  truly  said — he  said  quelle  a  ... 
qu'elle  a  an  embittered  mind." 

""  Elle  na  pas  la  foi—  "  the  voice  of  the  hostess 
dies  away  in  the  air,  like  the  smoke  of  incense. 

"  C'est  une  ame  egaree.  She  has  an  embit- 
tered mind." 

"  She  has  an  embittered  mind,"— repeats  her 
sister,  with  her  lips  alone. 

And  that  is  why  all  the  young  men,  without 
exception,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  Irina.  .  .  They 
are  afraid  of  her  .  .  .  they  are  afraid  of  her  "  em- 
bittered mind." 

That  is  the  form  which  the  current  phrase 
about  her  has  assumed ;  in  that  phrase,  as  in  every 
phrase,  there  is  a  grain  of  truth.  And  it  is  not 

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SMOKE 

the  young  men  alone  who  fear  her;  the  older 
men,  and  persons  of  high  rank,  and  even  per- 
sonages, fear  her  also.  No  one  is  capable  of 
noting  so  accurately  and  delicately  the  ridiculous 
or  the  petty  side  of  a  character,  no  one  possesses 
such  a  gift  for  pitilessly  branding  it  with  an  un- 
forgettable word.  .  .  .  And  that  word  burns  all 
the  more  painfully,  because  it  proceeds  from  a 
fragrant,  exquisitely  beautiful  mouth.  ...  It 
would  be  difficult  to  say  what  is  taking  place 
within  that  soul;  but  rumour  does  not  bestow 
upon  any  one  of  her  adorers  the  title  of  the  fa- 
voured suitor. 

Irina's  husband  is  advancing  rapidly  along 
that  road  which  the  French  call  the  road  of 
honours.  The  fat  general  is  overtaking  him ;  the 
condescending  one  is  being  left  behind.  And  in 
that  same  town  where  Irina  dwells,  dwells  also 
our  friend,  Sozont  Potugin:  he  rarely  sees  her, 
and  she  has  no  particular  need  for  maintaining 
relations  with  him.  .  .  The  little  girl  who  was 
intrusted  to  his  guardianship  died  not  long  ago. 


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